Vague Verity
by Adelaide E
Summary: Blinded by apathy and false beliefs, two soulmates reunite under the tense circumstances of a Daybreak mission. Aided and annoyed by well meaning agents, their worlds fall away as catastrophes leave only one thing for the human and the dragon: each other.
1. Plot Thickens

Disclaimer: The concepts of various Circles, the Night World, and characters were created by L.J Smith; here, borrowed for nonprofit-purely entertainment reasons.

Note: PG-15. Other note: I actually, physically _wince_ at the memory of my other story. So, this is written so maybe I won't have to wince any more. Right, no more notes. 

P.S. The quotes are just a sneaky way to get you from beginning to end…wait, not so sneaky since I told you, right? Doh! 

Vague Verity

Chapter 1

****

"Being a woman is a terribly difficult trade, since 

~*~*~*~

Animona, Massachusetts

Past

The first time she came into contact with her soul mate, she was completely unaware of it. Strange, considering he ruined her life, she would later learn. It happened in the darkest hour of night, when the truth was too obscure to see.

Verity Glisscielle had arrived from dance class two hours prior when her mother gingerly stepped into the pig sty of a room. "For goodness sake, Rita, clean this place up. And do you know where Melissa is?"

Ah Melissa. Rita was not exactly the black sheep, but didn't quite reach Melissa's white wool either; just a complacent gray. "Probably off winning another academic trophy and used her extra time to attend the celebration," she answered smartly.

"Oh, Rita," her mother said in a milder tone. Rita rolled her eyes and stopped the cd player. She hated the way her mother assumed she had the Jan Brady syndrome every time she spoke with sarcasm. And, even if she did feel that depressing pang of sibling rivalry, Rita would never admit it. There was too much of the Glisscielle pride in her to admit that.

"You know, you're every bit as smart as Melissa, you really are. I just don't think you try as hard…" 

"Chill, mom. You can skip the pep talk, I think I'm gonna put off the noose until next week. Unless you come up with new material," she quipped and met her mother's concerned gaze. It was the only thing she inherited from her mother. _The eldest may have received the intelligence, insect figure, and eloquent speech, but the youngest has gotten, boo yeah, the green eyes! What then, Melissa!_

"Very funny, Rita," her mother sighed, and impulsively smoothed the girl's hair. Nothing, even the dry cold winter, could flatten Rita's untamed curls. She wore her hair loose partly to annoy her very "together" relations. The wildness didn't particularly bother Rita, only the color: dirt brown. Not as dramatic as mother and Melissa's jet black. "She told me Oscar'd be there."

Rita bit her lip, for she couldn't trust herself to lie. Rita met him once, and he made some lame comment about her name and crackers. He seemed so _snobby_. So Rita simply shrugged, and let out an, "Oh. Really?"

"Now, Verity Catalina Glisscielle..."

Darn it. She went straight for the full name. Before she could think, Rita heard herself spill everything she knew of the boy. "Blonde, short. He has lots of money, because some times I see foot ball players and some of the popular kids giving him some. I remember somebody said something about drugs, but I just think it was the cold medicine he said he had in his locker."

"Oh dear, this may be the only time I'm happy your friends are such gossips. Now, you said drugs…"

Rita was about to answer when the door bell rang. On her window blinds, they saw flashing red and blue lights. While Mrs. Glisscielle ran to answer the door bell, Rita cautiously peeked out her window, hoping to catch a glimpse of anybody in the cop's back seat. Unable to distinguish anything in the darkness, Rita tip toed down the hall way to over hear any conversation.

"It's your daughter, ma'am. There's been an accident." 

Now, ideally, she should have been the sweet little sister and faint with worry. But, truthfully, Rita couldn't find any concern for her older sister, nor any compassion for the accident. Instead she was filled with spiteful happiness. _Finally_. Miss Perfect became imperfect. 

Her mothers thoughts ran a more sensible course. "But she's all right? Right? Melissa always wears her seat belt and she's always the designated driver…" Mrs. Glisscielle's voice trailed off. Rita peeped around the corner to see Officer Washington shaking his head.

All at once, anger darkened Rita's face. She knew it was a shameful and despicable reaction to the news, but couldn't stop the evil thoughts. How _dare_ she get hurt. How dare she play the beautiful fallen heroine. Now Melissa would return home, with a broken foot or something, and she would have to wait on her like a slave. 

"I won't lie to you." Safe from their view, Rita rolled her eyes. This sounded like an after school special. Officer Washington continued, "And we can't even find this Oscar guy. But Melissa…well, she's in the hospital. There's a slim chance of her surviving the next few hours-"

Panic. She had often felt it before, when Melissa caught her doing something that she shouldn't have been doing. But this was different. This was desperate. The hall way—no the world was suddenly darker than before. And much more menacing.

__

Run, Rita.

Mother was crying. Mother never cried in front of anybody.

__

Run, Rita. Melissa should be here to take care of this.

Officer Washington caught Mrs. Glisscielle just above the elbows before she sank to her knees.

__

Melissa should be here. I can't take care of this. I don't know how to take care of this. God, where's Melissa?

"Rita, go back to bed," officer said. "I'll take care of this."

__

No. Melissa should. Melissa holds mother's hands on daddy's birthday. They hug each other on his death anniversary. They make each other tea when the bills pile up. She should take care of this.

Her mother's shoulders were shaking. If it wasn't for Officer Washington's arms, she would have laid on the ground, oblivious to anything except misery. Lifeless. 

"Rita, go to bed. I said I'll take care of this," he repeated. 

No, no, no, no, no… Melissa was supposed to say that. She always said that. Rita could just picture her beautiful older sister now, shaking her head over some problem. "Go to bed, Rita," she would say tiredly. "I'll take care of this."

__

God, where are you Melissa? Mother's crying! Through her angry tears, Rita saw a photograph of Melissa in her cheerleader's uniform. She would come home. Melissa had to. Until then, Rita would try her best to be substitute until she came from the hospital. Melissa would be disappointed in her if Rita let chaos reign while she was gone. Until Melissa came home.

"Officer Washington, go back to the station," Rita ordered calmly as she took her mother's weight off of his hands. "I'll take care of this."

~*~*~*~

Honestly, she had no idea why anybody would get so worked up over simple class work. It was hard to believe they were ever child hood friends. She and Bryan never spoke any more, although some said he was stunningly attractive. More and more stunningly attractive boys were joining the school these days. But now Bryan appeared ready to kill her…not that he would.

Mr. Vicar held up his hands, the signal to end the debate. He shrugged apologetically to Smith. "Sorry, Bryan. She had facts, and, again, you lost your temper. Team A wins again." Rita pretended not to notice Bryan's muttering and stared intently at the movie playing on the school's channel. Mr. Vicar harshly told Smith to shut his mouth and then moved to his desk to grade the finals.

Simultaneously, the creaky classroom door swung open. Such a disturbance did not tear most of her classmates from their dreams. All but one. Somebody directly next to her. Somebody who did not attend school very often, and whose visits were very much cherished by the female class mates.

Rik Pinesworth, the local stocky, admirably built Greek god, snapped from whatever soporific reverie he was in and gazed with unabashed suspicion at the newcomer. For all Rik knew, nobody else was awake, Rita observed wistfully. _I might as well be a shadow._

Strangely enough, the minute she thought this, the arrival's head whipped to look at her. _A very handsome head_, she concluded silently, and looked down the second their eyes met. There was nothing extraordinarily handsome about him, at least to the naked eye. Maybe a bit too sharply angled or rounded in some places and a bit on the thin side. But he had a brooding, angry aura that some girls termed as a "bad boy" quality. He had wind blown tousled hair, as soft and shiny as gold foil. He was lean, but with compact tense muscles visible under his dark clothing. Broad shoulders, nice arms. The boy's arrogantly amused blue eyes contrasted her own nervous green ones. They seemed to say, "How dare you even _think_ about me? Don't you know I'm above you?"

Déjà vu. 

"What a donkey," she whispered to no one in particular. For some reason, this angle was familiar, him towering above her. Distantly she wondered if he'd ruffle her hair in condescension. 

Mr. Vicar, for quite some time now, had been interrogating the donkey on his academic history and so forth. Finally, because no satisfactory answers could be drawn from him, he directed him to the last empty seat in the classroom. Coincidentally, the desk behind Rita.

"Just my luck," she mumbled.

" Ian…what the hell are you doing here?" The virulent whisper startled her and Rita quickly turned to its source. Surprisingly enough, it came from Rik, who was usually indifferently relaxed in all matters. 

Although the living Greek idol did not notice her stare, the boy behind her had. She could almost picture him lifting his eyebrow in complete snobbery when he said, "Caution old friend. Perhaps we should converse in a more private manner, when nosy little ears cannot reach."

Rita frowned darkly and turned away; the phrase "nosy little ears" didn't even make sense, she noticed angrily.

All too happy to hear the three fifteen dismissal bell, Rita hurriedly gathered her notebook and left as soon as possible. Much to her dismay, her mother's car was not present in the school parking lot, meaning she was working overtime again. That meant a long trip home. Only after she delivered all her Christmas cards to the teachers began her walk home did Rita realize she was bereft of her winter coat. "Oh…curses," she swore to the empty country road. Her watch said 3:30. The school would be closed by now, seeing as it was the last day before winter vacation. The temperature was surprisingly mild for mid December in Massachusetts. But still mind numbingly cold for a thirty minute walk. 

"Oh really?" 

"I'd like to see you prove it," the male voice continued. It was dark as it was rich, rolling off the words like tumbling black silk. Distractedly, Rita wondered if the owner of that voice ever sang. The unknown male had a strange accent, as if in his life he had acquired bits and pieces of every language of the earth. Henry Higgins would have been dumbfounded.

She spun around, and found nobody in sight. A twig snapped. Rita surmised the comment was not directed at her and followed the dins into the woods beside the road. No more words were exchanged, but sounds of pain were heard. Soon after, she spied two young men tumbling about a small clearing. No, tumbling was the wrong word. They appeared as if they were fighting to the death.

Rik attempted a spin kick, but the calculation was terrible. Instead of impacting his opponent's chest, his ankle swung into the shoulder, succeeding in little more than giving him a shove. The adversary, who Rita recognized as the supercilious new student, shook his head in disappointment for a millisecond. Then he grabbed the foot and heaved it over his head.

__

Rik is so dead, she thought in astonishment.

Rik, on the contrary, did _not_ die by a single flight over the young man's head and a harsh landing into the frozen ground. He waited until he heard barely perceptible footsteps behind him. Keeping his torso completely flat on the ground, Rik executed a strange combination of a scissors and jack knifed kick by somehow twisting his legs upward and backward. One Timberland clad foot swept his Ian's legs from under him on the right side while another foot pounded his head from the left. Rita watched with delight when the snob collapsed sideways to the ground.

What a wonderful fight, she thought with warm admiration. _Such grace, such skill…_

Ian grabbed a heavy rock and threw it at Rik's head. The rock hit the target and she distinctly heard a horrifying crack.

__

Such despicable tactics!

Rita was certain she hadn't spoken aloud. Although her head ached with heavy unspoken thoughts, she wouldn't dare attract attention to herself in this dramatic situation. Shock filled her as Ian blandly glanced at her as he dusted himself off. Just as if he had known all along.

"Damn. If I'd known I had an audience, I would have prolonged the end." Startled of being addressed, Rita slowly backed away, hands fluttering behind her to sense obstacles. Amused, Ian took the same amount of steps forward.

"Afraid of me? Why am I not surprised?" His rich voice took a light tone. Very artificial. There was an arctic current in his voice, warning her to step back or be swept away.

He gave a dazzling smile, one Rita had only seen on Rik's friends and on toothpaste commercials. But she had never seen teeth quite so sharp… Panicked, she looked farther up, to meet the indigo eyes.

They weren't stranger's eyes, or the eyes of a new student. The smile in them said that he knew her, and knew what she would do next. Ian Amaro, with one simple look, seemed to establish some sort of claim on her, with a silent laughing that was irritatingly triumphant. Familiar…but that didn't make sense, because he _was_ a stranger. Angry for her irrational thoughts, she tore her gaze away, emerald eyes resting on the ground before her. 

"Querida—." The endearment felt like dangerous icicles to her ears. Everything about him, even his breath, exuded malevolence and malicious intent. Both of which she'd only seen in prisoners who worked roadside, and in a certain drug dealer from long ago. Abruptly, he gave a blank look and fell to the ground, his hair falling over his cruel eyes. Rita looked up from his body to the one standing triumphantly over it. Rik.

Involuntarily, her mouth fell open at the sight of her classmate, shining with sweat and a large thick branch in his hand. His tan skin was surprisingly unblemished. Rita could have sworn he was covered in cuts and bruises two minutes ago. Chest heaving, they watched Ian with disgust. She sensed that their thoughts ran a similar course.

"The rock wasn't very noble."

At the moment, the idea of fleeing drained from her mind, now utterly blank concerning her next action. She would have been quite content simply standing in the woods, sharing this private moment with her hero. Rik, apparently, had appointments to keep.

"Thanks for distracting him," he said curtly and made his way past her. "C'mon, he'll be fine by himself. Hopefully he'll be eaten by the moose. You know, the dull teeth would make the wound hurt more," he explained at Rita's puzzled look. At a loss for words, Rita followed after him through the woods until they reached the road. She wondered where his car was.

As if reading her thoughts, Rik muttered, "That damn prick slashed my tires. Technically Jared's tires. It's at the shop right now."

"I suppose that would be a good reason for that…incident back there," she said absently. Although not meant to be a joke, she spotted a tiny grin on Rik handsome face. Amazed at the recent events, but still freezing, she resumed her brisk trot home without a goodbye. By the silence behind her, she supposed Rik went his own way home.

"Where's your jacket?" Or maybe not.

"At school," she said in slight embarrassment. "Only an idiot would forget her jacket in weather like this."

Rita nearly collapsed when something of considerable weight landed on her shoulders. She whirled to Rik, finding him in nothing but an AE T-shirt and jeans. Not a shiver ran over him. To hide the blush on her cheeks for his courtesy, she turned away and pushed her arms into the leather jacket sleeves.

"You shouldn't have done that. I like the cold, even it's harmful."

With surprising easiness for a guy who possibly had a concussion, he shrugged. "I think you should wear it any way. For a girl who has the highest GPA in our class, I say you've earned a moment of stupidity without criticism. But just this one time, ya hear me, Miss Glisscielle?"

"Thank you for your approval," she murmured dryly.

"Any time." Neither seemed inclined to spark a conversation from then on. For Rita it was simply too cold; for Rik, it was simply too dull. In twenty minutes, they reached the drive way to her house. Tall trees and shrubbery concealed where the drive way ended.

Despite the lack of interest, Rik seemed adamant to walk her to the door. "It's the least I could do. Ian would have finished me off. If it wasn't for you, I could be lying dead in the woods right now. Being eaten by chipmunks. Or raped by the crows." Rita's eyes widened at the last bit of exaggeration. "I've seen them checking me out," he confided with a smile, "You practically saved my life," he pleaded.

Rita made an expression of amused doubt. She knew why he wanted to walk her to her door. Nobody had ever set a foot beyond the drive way entrance nor seen the actual house for years. Even the mailman or the UPS employees. Rita suspected rumors surrounded her home, but merely scoffed at them. 

"That interested in seeing the Boo Radley house?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind, I'd rather go alone. My…dog is most likely outside, and he doesn't take kindly to strangers within his territory," she explained quickly and shrugged off the hefty leather jacket. She all but threw it to him and waved good bye as she swiftly jogged to her front door.

Rik could tell she did not have a killer dog in the yard. She was a terrible liar, by face and voice. He had hoped to get a few extra minutes to check her memory. _ Strange girl_, Rik thought as he walked away. 

~*~*~*~

Rita walked tiredly to her library. The fire place there would thaw her half frozen toes and fingers. And good music would thaw her mind. From appearances of the gray, one story house, one would not infer there would be a library. She was strangely proud of the literary sanctuary that was not supposed to thrive in a lower class home.

Three bangs echoed around the house. Rita winced and rose from her comfortable oversized chair to her mother's room. There her older sister awaited her attention. Melissa.

Rita opened the door and found the bed in a complete disarray. There was little else in the room to destroy. Lamps, mirrors, perfume bottles, frames, cosmetics…they would have all injured the twenty year old or her guardian in some form or another. 

Silently, an indifferent, gray haired, overweight nurse walked coolly past her and out the door. Rita hated her ancient bloated guts, but it was better they had a nurse who did not form an emotional attachment. And who did not ask for much. Sighing, Rita coaxed her sister out from a corner and into the master bedroom's bathroom. Trying to avoid her blank, at times twitching eyes, Rita took a warm wet wash cloth to wipe the dried tears and saliva from her sister's face. One glance at the once fiery hazel eyes would send her into a sobbing fit that would last hours. 

"Rita?" A tiny knot formed in her throat at the sound of the small voice's uncertainty. Twenty years old and had trouble forming words. Doctors said there'd be some dysphasia. Some speech therapy would improve it but…that cost money. Money they didn't have. The doctor had given her a stern look of disapproval when she said that. Of course she felt guilty. But if you had to a choice between eating or listening to some one talk, well, the right one was obvious.

Desperately, she tried to suppress the sorrow with common sense. _She's been like this for years_, she told herself_, and it's time you got used to it_. Not even tatters of the graceful Melissa Glisscielle had stayed behind; they were left with this empty beautiful shell. Rita refused to answer her sibling. It would only end in nonsensical babbles any way. 

~*~*~*~

It had been shockingly easy to slip in. The girl should have known not to leave the door open any longer than necessary. He had searched and studied the premises, for future purposes. Then he simply wandered about, in search of entertainment. The damaged girl had made him smirk; it was interesting enough. 

Her mother arrived hours later. She was a taller version of her daughter, with the exception of her graying raven hair. And, like her daughter, she wore an expression of burden and emptiness. 

When his specimen kneeled beside her bed to pray, he nearly vomited. Then he heard her move on to apologies and his eyes glowed with approval. With harsh bitterness, he agreed that the little harlot had plenty to apologize for. 

Who knew a human could cause so much pain? Pushing away memories, he focused on the present. The young lady was incurable. Even with his incredulity and aversion to her lifestyle, he still had a good bitter laugh over it.

~*~*~*~

Fayth's announcement caused her roommate's brown haired head to rise from his pillow. 

"Another agent? Here?" Jared asked with surprise. The news actually made him leave the couch. There was not much that could do that, Rik remembered.

"Why the hell not?" Fayth asked with narrow eyes. "Something wrong with our agents?" Jared was lucky Fayth was washing dishes and not cooking. There would have been a careless knife being thrown about. Rik decided to stay at his spot in front of the telly, safely away from any thrown objects and close enough to hear the conversation. But he still made his comments.

"Of course not," he called. "You've done a wonderful job protecting the people of Anomina from stray dogs, rabid turtles, and poisonous mushrooms and such. How did we go on without you?" A moldy, soaking sponge splattered on his face. Good arm, he thought distractedly.

Emboldened by his friend's teasing, Jared added, "Yes, Fayth, you're an essential part of…the Nature Center." He dodged a soapy spoon. "Seriously, though, why the hell would Thierry send another agent? We have you. Nothing happens here. Even the 'rebels' are tame. Anything supernatural never extends farther than harmless mind control on teachers. Frankly, I say one is enough."

"This is Boston. It's full of evil doers you moron."

"It's outside Boston," he corrected. "The worst evil doer we've had was that _human_ drug dealer four years ago. Besides, the only reason they're sending people over is because they got nothing better to do now that the Final Battle is over. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Are you forgetting the fact that your bosom buddy over there just came home from a fatal brawl? With Ian, no less. It's strange to see such a worldly character here, of all places."

"And Ian is?"

"I'm guessing either shifter or vampire, and an old friend of some Daybreakers," Rik said loudly. It hadn't been the cunning of a witch boy that swindled him when they first met. Four hundred thousand dollars was a lot to lose in one night, even if it was a small game of poker.

Jared scoffed. "So there's a pest running around. It's nothing. I'll just squash him tomorrow." Rik sauntered over, making sure his footsteps were not heard below them. The towering boarding house they lived in was cheap, beautiful, and complete with cranky land lords with sensitive ears. The hag had just told him the other day that a new tenant had just moved in.

"It is tomorrow," he stated. "You missed the finals." Jared laughed, thinking it a joke, and then saw Fayth nodding in confirmation. He swore and plopped back onto the couch. 

"Where's she staying?" Fayth gave him a look that said, _You know where she's staying_. Rik sighed in resignation. 

"And it's not a she. It's a he. Kyros Snow. Fox shifter." The name meant nothing to him. As long as he stayed out of his way, Kyros Snow could have been the Lochness Monster for all he cared. The topic no longer interested him.

"Do you know a girl named Rita Glisscielle?" At first, Fayth did not answer and quietly placed the dishes in the cupboards. 

"Yes."

"Personally?"

"No. She's your Student Council President, haven't you noticed?" Rik shrugged his shoulders, indicating a no. 

"I didn't vote for her," he muttered. "I don't remember her name on the ballot."

"That's because she wasn't on it. Remember that huge scandal concerning Tracy Cox, the original Student Council President?" Rik stared at her blankly. "Tracy, Robert, Girl's Bathrooms, and ecstasy? Even I heard about that and I don't go to your school." A light of remembering sparked in his blue eyes.

"Well, after that, the principal just appointed Rita prez because she was 'responsible.' I don't think she wanted it. She doesn't seem to have that leadership quality."

"Oh," he said with realization, "that's why we have a junior for prez. I've sorta wondered about that. What group does she belong to?"

Fayth paused for a moment, deep in thought. "None," she said, in quiet realization. "I don't think she's belongs to any clique. That's strange, I've never noticed that before…oh, for Goddess' sake Rik, don't go feeling sorry for her. I said that she's not in any group, not that she doesn't have any friends. Rita is somehow connected to every circle of friends in most of the classes. Just friendly acquaintances, no friends, however. I think it's her own fault. They invite her to parties you know. She just doesn't attend."

Rik said nothing, his eyebrows furrowed as he thought of the girl from yesterday.

"Why, do you want to…take her out for a drink?" Fayth asked in menacing tones. Being a former victim, the girl did not take too kindly to tales of vampire meals. Rik wished the reason for her suspicion sprouted from jealousy.

"No," he said. "She just sorta helped me with Ian is all. Plus I think she saw some things she wasn't supposed to see."

"Oh." Fayth sounded unbelieving. "Any way, go to the Black Dahlia today. I need you to pick up any info for me…" Rik snorted.

"Hell no. You're the Daybreaker, not me. The last thing I want to do on my first day of vacation is hang around the know it all bastards. Any time I go around them, all I hear is shit like 'you're a traitor to your blood.' Well, to hell with that. You go." Fayth noticed with a small smile that his vocabulary increased for the worse with the mention of Night World.

"But I'm human," she objected.

"Then I'm sure they'll want you even more," he replied smartly. 

"Please," she said softly, and reached for his hand. Rik narrowed his eyes. She was trying to take advantage of his tiny crush on her. And she succeeded. He nodded, and turned away from her smug grin. It was pitiful; one touch and he was a whipped man.

Returning to her business like tones, she continued. "Night Worlders 'round here have been itchy lately…"

Rik shook his head in mock disappointment. "Well, that's what the little sluts and man-whores get when they have unprotected sex." Fayth merely rolled her eyes at his joke. 

"You know what I mean. And being in small numbers, they'll want to take their revenge with one small shot. Meaning,"

"Everybody in one place. A party," he finished for her. "So, are we going to socialize this winter, Fayth?"

"Not if you find something out at the Black Dahlia so we can cancel any plans," she answered sweetly. Rik sighed. He had been hoping for a date with her. This intelligent Aphrodite had been taking advantage of him ever since she arrived six months prior, and not in the fun way. _It's terrible that Circle Daybreak does not install stronger morals in their femme fatales_, he thought wistfully.

~*~*~*~

"What kind of ass hole would drive at thirty five miles per hour on the most abandoned road in all of Massachusetts? Can't she see I have a Mustang here? It's wrong to be driving this slow in a Stang!" Kyros practically ranted as his car followed the Altima, glued to its bumper. He launched into another colorful speech when the driver lowered to a slower speed. It appeared to be a spiteful action in response to his tailgating. 

Rashel and Quinn followed closely behind. Kyros observed them in the rear view mirror with jealousy. Why did Quinn get a Thunderbird for his birthday? Thierry just gave the fox a new motorcycle. 

Winnie gave a tinkly laugh beside him. "Calm down. There's no need to be in a hurry. After all, we still have to pick up some necessities before we reach Fayth's."

"Nail polish and cookies don't count as necessities," he mumbled. The shifter then swore when Winnie grabbed his cigarette and threw it out her window. 

"Those will…" 

"Kill me," he finished violently. He had been extremely agitated by the long ride from the airport. "Yes, yes, I know. I don't give a damn."

Winnie tossed her golden locks in a superior manner. "I was going to say that they will ruin the new car smell. I could care less if they harm _you_." Kyros sighed. At first, when he heard who his future partners were, Kyros hoped for a possible tryst with the beautiful witch. Now he wished Keller assigned the ever-optimistic human Hugh as his partner. Anything but the high maintenance shrew. 

He guessed it would have been strange any way, to be dating a close friend of Nissa. What would they talk about, what did they have in common? Nissa, and that subject was still a bit too painful to discuss for Kyros. It was time for a change of thoughts. "I want the full truth. Why are we going to Anomina? Are the local livestock turning into leeches?" 

"For the past six months or so, the number of Night Worlders has been growing in Anomina. Even with the events on the Damned Clan Island, their population slowly continues to rise. We are visiting to investigate, question and…"

"Kill in a town where everybody knows your name. And you're always glad you came…Nothing like potential murdering spree to whip you into shape, huh Winnie?"

"I don't need anything to whip me into shape. But you're right about one thing," she continued. "This is a small town. Everybody knows each other. Our actions probably wouldn't be secret for long.

"Turn here," she exclaimed quickly. At the sudden order, his tires screeched as he turned into the parking lot of a Super Mart, taking a turn that was far too sharp for his speed. The car spun a full circle. Beside him, Winnie shrieked with humorous terror. With hair raising speed, he swerved again to stop the car at the perfect angle into the nearest available spot to the entrance. Satisfaction rested on his lips when he saw his passenger scowl at him. 

"Look, it's that law abiding driver you hate," Winnie noticed as she grabbed her purse. Kyros looked in the direction she indicated. It was the same Altima, and the driver who left looked exactly like the type who would stay five below the designated speed limit. Modest, plain clothes, and unflattering glasses. Very…together. She was the sort of girl who would go ballistic if one strand of hair was not in the right spot, or some piece of furniture did not sit in its designated coordinates. He supposed her to be physically sixteen years old, but mentally sixty seven. After all, only little old ladies drove that slow. He wondered if Winnie would say anything as she followed the girl into the Super Mart.

A shorter vampire emerged from the car next to him, and motioned him to lower the window. Quinn broke into his thoughts when he asked, "You _did_ remember to tell Fayth that you have extra three visitors, right?"

"Dammit." He opened the glove compartment in search of his cell phone.

~*~*~*~

Rita had gathered all the essential food items in twenty minutes. She had done so every Saturday for the past three years, with mother in the car waiting, usually sleeping. So far, driving had only given her the liberty of food shopping alone. As she pushed her cart out of an aisle, another collided with it. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she heard a female voice say. A girl of her age came into view. The stranger appeared mousy and dull, even more so than herself. Her flat blonde hair curtained beady squinting eyes. She appeared slightly overweight, with a round childish face. "I didn't see you, I'm terribly sorry." Her nervousness made Rita give a slight smile. 

"It's okay," she assured her. The girl looked at her, waiting for her to continue. Instead of speaking, Rita pulled her cart away from the collision.

"I'm new here, by the way." Her voice stopped her, and, putting a polite expression on her face, Rita turned again to the girl. 

"I'm Ophelia Brown, nice to meet you." Rita shook Ophelia's hand, disliking the eagerness in her voice. The last thing she needed was a clingy follower when school recommenced. Rita always opted not to have a best friend. They took up too much time.

"Nice to meet you too. I hope you find Anomina to your liking," she commented as she moved to the cash registers. Ophelia followed her.

"Thanks. You're the only one who's given me a kind reception since I got here." At once, Rita felt a pang of guilt when she heard it. She did not want to act as her peers.

"Well," Rita replied in a softer tone, "the younger generations around here usually reject the unfamiliar. It's their snobby way." There was something oddly familiar in the girl that made her open more than usual. Ophelia laughed. They reached the cash registers, and Rita allowed her to go first. 

Once she left, Rita began placing her purchases on the counter. 

"Hey Rita," the cashier greeted her. Walter Washington, one of many acquaintances smiled at her, his blindingly white teeth contrasting his dark skin. Rita smiled back, then frowned when he turned to drool as a strawberry blonde haired beauty breezed by. A tune popped into her head, demanding to be hummed. "I learned the truth at seventeen; that love is meant for beauty queens…"

"So how goes everything today?" he asked, halting her little melody.

"Fine, Walter. How are you?" Her heart wasn't in the conversation. She had a tiny feeling that the only reason he spoke to her was pity. By all the store brand names in her cart, plus the piles of coupons, anybody could guess her family's economic situation. Once, he had even hinted he could get her a job; she declined, no time. Inside, she sighed wistfully. She wished that he would look at her the way he had looked at the gorgeous blonde. With beautiful cheekbones, friendly almond shaped eyes, and smooth chocolate skin, Walter Washington was everybody's pal and absolutely scrumptious to the eyes. Even the stiff waves in his obsidian hair were admirable. 

"Here's your receipt. Have a nice day, Rita." He kept a grip on the receipt when she reached for it.

"Listen, are you coming to Scott's party tomorrow night? Everybody's invited you know, especially the student council." Rita thought of Scott, the vice president of Student Council, and the rest of the members. They were all cheerleaders, trendsetters, and jocks. Her invitation was a polite afterthought. She shook her head.

"Come on, Rita! His basement is huge, and the sound system is…"

"Coated with drug residue. I'm sorry, I just can't. Good bye," she called with an apologetic smile.

The freezing wind easily infiltrated her light jacket the minute she stepped outside. She didn't mind. As she moved to the car, she saw a familiar Mustang parked a few feet from her. It was the same that had practically shoved itself into her Altima's trunk earlier. Keeping her eyes to the ground, Rita swiftly avoided any gazes from those inside. But she forgot the speed demons in the Mustang when she saw who leaned against her car.

~*~*~*~

"Well if it isn't the treasonous mosquito to grace us pitiful Night Worlders with his presence. And Tonto too." 

Rik clenched his fist as he sat down at a bar stool. Jared glared at the source of the comment. He tried his best to ignore Morice. It was strange that the platinum haired vampire should use that degrading term. Not very flattering to himself.

"What's the matter? The vermin at home snubbing you?" He seated himself beside the tense vampire. Morice _tsked, tsked_. "That's when you know you've hit rock bottom. When a mere human screws with your head."

"From what I've heard," Jared commented calmly, "the cheerleader captain did a devastating number on you last Valentines Day."

"Yes, sixty ni-" 

"Morning boys," a vampire greeted them salaciously. A redhead, with large amounts of porcelain cleavage showing, smiled at them, particularly Rik. Jared remembered her as one of the many Night World drop outs. Leaning onto the bar, artfully propping her bosom on the counter. Only Morice appreciated it. 

"Morning," Morice said brightly, slick as oil. She rolled her eyes. "Interested in a little prop—"

"I'm busy," she snapped and disappeared into a dark room. Morice's eyes lingered on the door, still gleaming with repugnant lust as if the voluptuous girl remained there. Then he looked at his present company and declared proudly that the redhead wanted him.

"She doesn't seem to interested in giving charity," Rik commented smoothly.

"Wanna bet?" The expression, although common, was to be taken quite literally by those who knew Morice Orin. He was the all time gambler at school, running pools on sports events, elections, and even the birth of his class mates' illegitimate children. By the unusually eager shine in his swarthy eyes, Jared and Rik guessed he had won something valuable recently. Like any true gambler, he foolishly thought his luck would prevail. Both shook their heads.

"Well, boys," Morice carried on easily, "what does your appearance mean? Are you going to forfeit that irritating neutrality and actually join a side?"

"What's the point? The Battle's done, your side lost, end of story," Rik stated shortly.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun," Morice whispered mischievously. Rik turned to him with false interest. The devilish vampire was pleased to see Pinesworth possibly swayed. If Rik ever returned to his old ways, then there would be truly hellish events in town. "We've got what we've been waiting for. He brings with him the means for a party."

"What sort of fun?" Jared asked, but with too much curiosity. Rik silently rued his decision to bring Jared with him. 

Morice drew back and studied them. "It's pitiful that you two are reduced to doing a vermin's dirty work. Tell that damn Daybreaker that we'll be watching her." Without another word, he stood up and left the Black Dahlia. By his leave, others in the club looked at the two "neutral" men at the bar. Rik stayed another twenty minutes simply to show he had no fear of their judgments. Then he eagerly took his exit, with Jared not far behind.

"Call Fayth, will you? Tell her what we found out. And that Ian was nowhere in sight." Jared, blaming himself for their lack of information, silently complied. They talked for some time, Jared pulling the phone away occasionally and wincing. Rik knew she would not be pleased with their non existent help. That was exactly why he had Jared call. Who, of course, told the entire conversation.

With a sigh, Jared said goodbye and hung up. "Head for the Super Mart. We got to get some extra bed sheets and crap. That shifter forgot to tell her he had extra company. What a tool." Rik wasn't troubled by the errand. It gave his crush some time to cool down. He had never seen her lose her temper, and he hoped that he never would.

The battered Corolla pulled into the virtually empty lot. Finding a good parking space proved not too difficult. There were only six cars present. It was the occupants of two that shocked Rik. Jared noticed his friend tense up immediately.

"What?"

"There's Ian, on Rita's car. Son of a bitch," he swore vehemently. Jared had no inkling who Rita was, nor what the deal was with Ian. But he did notice two familiar persons climb out of an impressive red Mustang and Thunderbird across the lot. It was his turn to swear. He had a fifty year financial debt with that Redfern, or was it simply Quinn now, or…well, whoever the hell he was nowadays. Hopefully his years at Circle Daybreak had made him more forgiving.

In a nervous voice, he sputtered, "I- um…I think we should leave. I haven't eaten breakfast yet, and…" Rik had already pulled his key out of ignition and unlocked the doors. 

"A showdown at the Super Mart," Jared murmured as he reluctantly opened his door. "There's something you don't hear every day."

Rita stopped a few feet away from her car, clearly wary of the stranger. True, she knew his name, but that was all that she knew of him. The man could be a psycho, a killer, a rapist, or a pedophile… Then again, she wouldn't really have to worry for her safety if he _was_ a pedophile…

"Not even a hello to an old friend?" He had a deep rich, slightly accented voice. For an unknown reason, Rita shivered at the sound of it. It frightened her to the core.

Attempting indifference, she steadily replied, "Our meeting lasted two seconds. It does not qualify friendship."

"Querida, how can you be so cold?" His handsome face wore mock injury. Already, Rita hated his arrogance and egoism. She then realized her fingers were numb on the shopping cart handle. Refusing to be intimidated, she brushed past him to the trunk of the car to unload the food items. 

"You always were a little standoffish."

"Go away," she ordered irritably. His presence completely disconcerted her, moreso than anybody she had ever met. The most annoying fact was that he seemed to enjoy it. All she knew was that he looked very desirable in black, he was a proven prick, and that Rik did not like him. _And if Rik doesn't like him, then I don't like him._

"We have unfinished business, Tana. We shall take care of it right now. Without any of your friends' presence," he declared in an authorative manner. Rita's eyebrows rose in gentle surprise. Nobody, other than her mother, gave her, Verity Catalina Glisscielle, a demand without fear of her reaction. She did not like being ordered about like a slave by strangers. And who on earth was Tana?

"No," she answered simply, and put the last paper bags in the car. The Altima shook when she slammed the door shut. Because of that awful obstacle called Ian, she went around to the passenger side to reach the driver's seat. The living malediction put his large bronzed hand on the door.

" When I speak, people obey," he asserted through clenched teeth. Rita met his blue eyes with some confusion. The large hand then moved to her arm. 

She opened her mouth to say, "Yes, maybe in _your_ world," when the window shattered beside her. Rita shrieked and hit the ground, and heard the back windows of her car explode into tiny shards. With disbelief, she watched as Ian's shoulders jerked, first right and then the left, and blood began spurting from the bullet wounds. But he did not fall.

"Did you miss?! How the hell can you miss?" She heard an incredulous familiar voice shout a few feet away from them. From her position, she saw four feet heading towards them. Two in very old and muddy sneakers, the others in hiking boots. Timberlands, she noticed with narrowed eyes. No longer afraid of possible gunshot wounds, she stood up.

"No, I didn't, I swear to Goddess, I didn't!" Rik and one of the many failed seniors ran quickly to them. Startling quick. 

"Aim for the god damn heart!" That would be…Jared Luna. She recognized his cursing before she recognized his face. Faintly, she wondered now if all the strange rumors that shrouded him were true.

Suddenly, from the right, she heard faintly, "Get the human out of there." Before she could turn, strong arms snaked around her waist, lifted her up and Ian's form suddenly became smaller and smaller as the surroundings past by in seconds. Rita felt as if she were on a roller coaster, and held fast to the arms.

Just when she thought she was being sucked into another dimension, the motion abruptly halted and she found herself next to a Mustang. More than a hundred feet away, across the weathered lot, she saw three men and one Altima with no windows. Next to her was a tall red haired young man, one girl who looked as if she belonged in a Charlie's Angel movie, and a shorter teenager who seemed to exude danger and slight insanity. Although she was slightly taller than the girl and her companion, Rita felt a pang of fear. She wondered whose company would be safer.

They, however, did not notice her. All eyes were focused on the scene before them.

Rik had fired more shots, but if they hit nobody could tell. One second Ian was there, the next he was gone. Rita's eyes widened until she thought her eyeballs would fall out. She didn't dare breathe a single word, although her head was full of a thousand thoughts.

Rik and Jared were equally astounded. They checked in the car, around it and under it. The man was nowhere in sight. After a few minutes, they quickly moved towards Rita with the same baffling speed as before. Within seconds, the two were standing before her, not even breathing very hard. 

"Jared Luna. So this is where you've been hiding," the less tall young man commented with dry amusement. Jared pretended to be very interested in the sports car. 

"Are you all right?" Rik asked Rita. Again, she raised her eyebrows. She hadn't been asked that for years. Trying to regain composure, she shrugged.

"He was bothering me, but that was no reason to shoot him." Nobody responded to her little joke. 

"I'm guessin' you're Rik, right?" The red head shook his hand briskly. "This is Rashel Jordan and Quinn. They're soul mates, ya know, but that doesn't mean they're like all the others. Let me tell ya, being at the mansion is like being like some freaking honey moon hotel. Thank god these two aren't always all over each other, only sometimes, but seeing how tolerant I am , I don't mind very much. Now Winnie, that girl hates seeing these two cuddle up, but then again it's probably because she's always alone and-"

Rashel hit the back of his head. Quinn looked at him with half annoyance and half wonder.

"Do you _ever_ shut up?" Kyros threw him a dark look and rubbed the injured spot.

"Okay," Rik said, cutting through the awkward pause, "I _am_ Rik Pinesworth, and that shy guy is Jared Luna. We live with Fayth."

"We guessed as much," Rashel told him . Her eyes moved pointedly to Rita.

"This is Rita Glisscielle, she's uh…Rita's the, um…" Rita felt her face burn in embarrassment; evidently, he couldn't even bring himself to say 'friend.' In the middle of his um's and uh's, she spoke up.

"I'm his classmate," she interrupted brusquely and shook the girl's hand. Rita did not like having all these strangely attractive people staring at her like an interesting insect. "Well," she continued in falsely bright tones, "I have to be going now." She walked away, only to feel a tug on her jacket. Rita turned to see Jared's hand holding her back.

"I think it would be best if you stayed with us for a while," he explained with a sort of pleading look. With his untidy appearance and wide hazel eyes, he reminded Rita of a messy, sticky child.

Before she could refuse, the doors of Super Mart burst open. The gorgeous blonde sprinted out, with Walter following behind her.

"Rita," he called out and made his way towards her, impressively passing Winnie, who had a good head start. "Are you all right?" She nodded, but her concerned acquaintance regarded the strangers with hostility anyway.

"Do you have anything to do with the gunshots earlier?" He asked suspiciously, sounding very much like his father, a well known police officer of Anomina. Rik tried to wipe away his grin. Rita suspected Walter's attempt at intimidation was comical to the people who surrounded her. She, on the other hand, would have taken him very seriously.

Walter looked towards her car. All windows, save the one on the back door, were broken. "Do you need a ride home?" Aversion to the favor was obvious by her expression. The last thing she needed was more pity from Walter when he saw her pathetic house.

"It's okay, Walter, we'll drive her home. Just call a tow truck for her car and ask them to take it to Stephanie McCullen's dad's auto shop. Tell him to put it on my bill. Okay?" Walter agreed to Jared's suggestion and unwillingly left.

"I leave for one minute and," the blonde began.

"Save it, Winnie," Quinn cut in. "It's wasn't us. It was Fayth's roommates." Winnie looked at the two Quinn indicated and then looked away, unimpressed. She decided to give up on men for a while. They were simply too childish. By the looks of the werewolf, she was probably right.

"Well, what are our actions, Rashel?" She was surprisingly business-like. Rita had assumed one who looked like her would giggle and toss her hair at the sight of "Fayth's roommates." 

"We'll drive to Fayth's as originally planned. Rik and Jared will too. Then we can have a nice long chat." Nobody contradicted her.

~*~*~*~

Although she heard Rashel's orders, Rita assumed Rik would drop her off first. After all, they had loaded her groceries into the Toyota Corolla, or the "Yota," as Jared affectionately called it. She had to admit it was short, mostly green, and undoubtedly ancient.

But Rik did not turn right at Main Street. He turned left, onto Anomina Road. Rita knew the boarding houses were there. Unbuckling her seat belt, she scooted to the middle so she could see Rik in the rear view mirror.

"I need to go home."

"We just have to talk with you for a little bit, Rita."

"But I have things to do," she insisted.

"You can lay off the studying for at least one hour," Jared retorted. 

"I'm surprised you even know the meaning of the word," she shot back angrily. "Don't assume that you know who I am or what I do."

It was the most emotion Rik had seen in the girl. If this argument progressed, it appeared she would have a conniption. For her sake, he mentally sent Jared a warning_. Leave her alone, she's been through a lot in the past twenty minutes_. Jared snorted, but stopped conversing with her. Rita leaned back in her seat, automatically ashamed of herself. It was the same wave of guilt she felt when she snapped at her sister, or the other student council members. It wasn't their fault they didn't understand. She should have had more patience.

When they reached the blue stately boarding house, the Mustang had already taken his spot. Rik parked across the street and placed a hand on Rita's shoulder. It appeared to be a reassuring, friendly gesture, but both knew it was to keep her from walking to a pay phone and calling a cab. Although calm, she obviously still felt the urgency to return home.

Rita had never been on Anomina Road; there was no need to take a drive down the road and feel the burning envy when she looked at the majestic abodes. Even of the inhabitants lived on only one floor of the palaces, it was bound to be much fairer than the house she lived in. Once in the stairwell, with Jared in front and Rik behind, Rita instantly knew the apartment would be to die for.

She was not disappointed. Shiny hardwood floors; clean white walls closed in a spacious living room and kitchen. Contemporary furniture, from leather to black wire, occupied each room. Distractedly, Rita tried to picture their bedrooms. _Not like I'll ever be invited into one_, she thought.

"Looked what the cat dragged in," Fayth greeted them pleasantly. She was not at all surprised by the sight of Rita. In fact, she motioned where she should sit within the little circle formed in the living room. "Let me guess, you didn't get the bed stuff."  


Jared slapped his forehead. "I knew we forgot something." 

"I'll get us some coffee." Rik made his way to the kitchen without an apology to Fayth. Although she could see him from her seat by the window, Rita felt suddenly very lost without her class mate. She did not know these people, who currently looked at her with business-like interest. Once again, she felt out of place. Here she was, in work out pants and a sweat shirt, surrounded by extremely attractive people in designer clothing. Even Jared, with his fair share of cowlicks, looked like he would fit in a Gap Kid's commercial. Strange how a mere twenty four hours could alter one's hum drum life.

"So how do you know Ian Amaro?" The black haired male…Rita searched for his name…Quinn asked bluntly.

"I don't. I just met him yesterday." 

Taking a softer tone after he sensed her discomfort, Kyros spoke up. "But he called you querida. He must be familiar with you some how."

"I don't care; he called me Tana, too. But I've never met him before, I swear. Ask Rik. I just met the man yesterday." Conveniently, her class mate walked in the class room, with one coffee mug in his hand. 

"If you remember correctly, Rita, I was technically unconscious. I don't know what happened between you two." Ungratefully, she accepted the mug from his hand. _This is the thanks I get for "practically saving his life."_

Rashel could read her face like a bill board. She was evidently displeased by Rik's lack of help. Saying what the others were beginning to suspect, she proposed, "Perhaps you're an old soul."

"As a matter of fact, I turned sixteen several months ago." 

Winnie bit her lip to keep from smirking. "No, honey, we meant that you knew each other in another life."  


"Should we be telling her these things?" Quinn told Jared not to worry about it, but not aloud.

"I don't believe in reincarnation," Rita declared primly. She took a sip of the coffee and made a face at its bitterness. Out of politeness, she took another sip and set it on the coffee table.

"What did he say to you?" The question came from Fayth. Distantly, Rita remembered her dropping out last year. She wondered what kept her in Anomina.

"He said…I was cold, standoffish, and an old friend. Plus he said silly things like we had unfinished business and people should obey him. Personally, I believe he has a Napoleon complex. Although, he doesn't have the shortness to qualify…"

"And what do you remember of our fight?" Rik asked in earnest. Rita looked at him dubiously before answering.

"He hit you with a rock, not very honorable. I thought I heard a crack when it landed, but it must have been my imagination…"

"Of course it was," Jared interrupted. "How the hell would he be here if he had a fractured skull?" Rita frowned at his choice of words.

"I don't know," she said heatedly. " I did say I _thought_ I heard a crack didn't I? Any ways, after you became…indisposed, he turned to me, as if he had known I was there the whole time. It was very surprising."

"And?" Winnie asked rather impatiently.

Distracted by her rude tone, Rita took another sip of her coffee. Only Rik's attentive eyes restrained her from spitting the horrible liquid back into the mug. Sighing, Rita shrugged her shoulders, praying her interviewers would not be irked by her lack of information; not a chance.

"What do you mean?" Rashel imitated her shrug. "How can you not know? The man recognizes you on the supposedly first encounter, calls you dear, seeks your private attention, and you have no idea who or what he is? That's crazy." Her tone held no room for argument.

A bit intimidated, Rita squeaked, "I don't remember anything else."

"You're lying," Winnie pointed out flatly.

"Well, yes" the girl admitted, hoping to pacify the women, "I remember he had rather pointy teeth. But then again so do a lot of people." Peculiar looks were exchanged. "I don't suppose that's of any importance…is it?"

"Of course not, he just uses them to open mail," Jared responded with raw sarcasm. Rita gave a hurt expression, and then quickly oppressed it. What a moody little failure he was.

"She's got to be an old soul," Winnie announced in a matter of fact timbre. "There is no other explanation."

"She could have had amnesia," Kyros interjected, hating the Winnie's absolute certainty. "Have you had amnesia?"

Rita shook her head. "Not that I know of," she added regretfully.

"Well, that would make sense, having amnesia and all…" Kyros trailed off, presumably continuing the insight in his mind. Rita would have smiled had she not yawned. She began to think all the excitement had fatigued her a bit.

Without thinking Rita leaned back into her chair, making herself more comfortable.

Fayth faced Rashel. "From what Rik has learned, the Night World has something planned, apparently because somebody with the means and permission has arrived. For a social gathering."

"Permission from who?" Rashel wondered out loud. "I thought the Night World Council was obliterated at the beginning of this year."  


"Maybe they're trying to regroup?" Jared offered. Nobody could confirm nor deny the idea. It was, after all, a very persistent organization.

"And Ian is the only new arrival in the past few days?" Quinn always delved into possibilities.

Winnie shook her pretty little head. "I overheard a girl tell Rita here she had just moved in."

"Possibly connected?"

It was Kyros' turn to shake his head. "Doesn't look like it. I saw her enter the Super Mart. She looked as if she was scared of her own shadow. Bookish, ya know?"

"Sounds like she and Glisscielle could be the best of pals," Jared remarked jokingly. Fayth hit the back of his head with a rolled up newspaper.

"Lay off of her," she ordered testily. Fayth had to admit she didn't know the girl, but there was no reason for her to be mistreated.

To both their surprise, it was Rik that spoke up for him. "It doesn't matter any way. She's asleep." All eyes turned to the interviewee. There in the leather recliner was a slumbering Rita, coffee mug still in hand.

Winnie walked over and examined its contents. Taking a whiff, she pulled back immediately. "What did you put in this?" she questioned the blonde vampire. "Night shade, St. John's wort, or a bit of mistletoe and willow bark…?"

Rik grinned and held up a bottle of dark green, syrupy liquid. "Nyquil. She's never sick, therefore low tolerance to the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing…I forget the rest. Look, if she's sleeping, she won't argue." At Winnie's disapproving look, he shrugged. "It beats searching through the woods. All I got to do is drive to the nearest drugstore."  


"Whatever, just go ahead and do it," she commanded, unreasonably irritated by him. Rashel's voice stopped him from proceeding.

"Quinn should. He's a more powerful psychic." Rik easily complied. It didn't bother him in the least. And he had heard of Quinn's supposedly unequaled psychic abilities.

"Check if she has amnesia," Kyros ordered before Rashel's soul mate began.

~*~*~*~

It was easy enough. Like her facial expressions, he read her thoughts like a book. It just took some time to figure out where exactly he needed to go. Quinn ascertained that her account of the fisticuffs was entirely correct. She had also told the truth about concerning her second encounter with Ian Amaro. 

Breezing by the unimportant details of her life, such as home and family, Quinn reached farther into the subconscious. Ignoring the usual teenage girl anxieties, the vampire was surprised by some sort of mental wall. How bizarre to find a human girl with such a strong, impenetrable shield. Not only did it manage to keep him out, but herself as well. Perhaps Kyros' absurd notion of amnesia was correct.

After some concentration and unwavering attempts at infiltration, Quinn managed to slip into the secluded vault. Even when he entered, questions were not immediately answered. She was an old soul, that was for sure. Fuzzy memories of Ian, her, and Western Europe surrounded him. Any time he spied Amaro in her thoughts, a sliver of fear appeared. As he delved deeper, he learned a third party was involved. Hay and horses flashed vaguely. With the recollection, Quinn sensed fresh shame. Ian's visage appeared again, and with him came the emotion of sorrow. He would never have thought being in Rita Glisscielle's mind would end in a discovery of a soap opera plot. In the thick of his search, Quinn felt her thoughts sharpen. Rita was waking up. 

Sensing all he needed to know, Quinn quickly withdrew from the mind. As he seceded, he thought he heard the faint rhythmic claps. Until he opened his eyes, he was unaware he had closed them. He found his team looking at him expectantly. 

"Well?"

"An old soul, all right," he confirmed. Rita sat up rather groggily and instinctively tidied herself up. Her doubtful face told them she had heard Quinn's news.

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Am not!"

"Are to," he responded, but decided this sort of intellectual argument could last quite a while if he didn't stop it. "I saw it, Rita, there's not doubt you've known him in another life time." Although she nodded, the girl still kept a tiny bit of skepticism on her features.

Rolling his eyes, he informed his team, "I'm not going to erase her memory. We're going to use her to gain some information of Ian's past life, and it's impossible to follow her around without her becoming suspicious of our motives all over again. It would probably prove helpful if she remembers whatever happened between them any way."

"What _did_ happen between them?" Fayth asked with interest Rita suspected was not for business. With a spontaneous indignity, Rita's expression became dark. Who gave him permission to tell her past? After all, it was _her_ past, and none of _their_ business. But he was already speaking.

"From what I could guess, Ian and Rita were somewhat related. Until _something_ happened with Rita and a stable boy in the stables. Ian didn't approve." Jared was the first to laugh shamelessly. Rita remained still, taken aback by the facts.

"I'm a _used_ sweater?" she gasped finally, with an expression of complete shame and surprise, mouth open. 

"Pardon? When did the conversation turn to fashion?" 

Rik explained since Rita did not seem inclined to answer. "It was a metaphor the ninth grade teachers taught the girls in sex education, trying to convince them to stay a virgin. They told them that when guys see a sweater they like, they may try it on, but they buy one that was not tried on. I didn't think it worked on anybody until…"

"I'm a used sweater," Rita repeated, comical disbelief underlying the words. Jared found it hilarious that she was the only girl in her class that took that metaphor seriously. Again, he found himself injured by a rolled up newspaper. Nobody would have ever believed a newspaper could be that painful.

"Why do we need her as an informant? If they are going to crash a party, Ian's going to be there anyway. There's no need to endanger her," Fayth reasoned. 

Kyros shook his head. "Just because he plans something, doesn't mean he's going to be there when it happens. It might be too dangerous, he might get caught, and he might just be doing it as a favor to his buddies. Either way, Amaro was never too fond of the show, just the scheming."

"That's right," Rashel corroborated, a bit surprised to hear it from the shifter, "if he's interested in finishing whatever business he and Rita have, it's best if somebody keeps an eye on her. If she's that important, perhaps he wouldn't kill anybody at a party if she's there, at least collectively."

"I thought you came here to spoil a party, not play baby sitter to the…" Winnie threw a paper ball at Jared before he could insult again. "Girl," he finished sulkily.

"Did you not hear anything at all?" Jared was beginning to get under Quinn's skin. "She's instrumental to ensuring there will be no need to spoil a party. If we kill him, then the others will just give up, if they're as idiotic as you say they are," he added, turning to Fayth. 

"Oh, believe me they are," Rik assured him, thinking of Morice Orin. "They're so busy with their heads stuck up their own asses they probably won't even notice your presence. Sorry," he apologized when he saw Rita's face at the word "asses." What a little prude.

"You don't mind if we kill him?" Winnie asked Rita thoughtfully. She shrugged, startled that Winnie had thought of her feelings. She hadn't had a word in edgewise so far.

"Just because he was involved in her previous life, doesn't mean he's her soul mate," Quinn cut her off, knowing very well where the witch was headed. Strangely enough, for a girl who killed many at least every other week, Winnie had a mind full of romantic notions.

"Well, what else is worth coming back for?" 

"Maybe the stable boy was her soul mate."

"And where is this guy to save the day? Isn't how the story's supposed to go?" Kyros asked.

"Knowing Ian, if the stable boy was around here, he's already killed him."

For a time there was a pause, and then, like a well oiled machine, everybody took the present necessary actions. Rik and Fayth moved to the kitchen, Kyros left to retrieve some items left in the car, and Winnie, Rashel, and Quinn conversed amongst themselves. As quietly as possible, Rita tip toed to the door.

"Don't bother," Rik hollered from the kitchen. "Fayth's calling your mother to ask if you can sleep over." Stunned at the news, Rita rushed towards its source. True to his word, Fayth was busy conversing on phone, "ma'am" slipping in every so often.

She walked in just in time to see Rik mouth a name to Fayth. She nodded.

"Yes, some of Walter's little brothers had a gun, they thought it was a toy. Don't worry, you won't have to pay for it," she assured her. After a few moments, Fayth handed Rita the cordless phone. Half afraid, she turned away and hesitantly put the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Rita." She winced, hearing the disappointment in Mrs. Glisscielle's tired voice. If at all possible, Rita avoided hearing or seeing disappointment from her mother. "Rita how can you even think of a sleepover?"

She moved farther down the hall, hoping these so called Daybreakers did not have good hearing.

"I know, I'm sorry," she whispered, hating the desperation in her voice. She fiddled with her glasses, her hands starting to tingle. Mrs. Glisscielle continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"You know I need your help, you know that we need each other. That's why I don't go to dinner with my coworkers. You know that, Rita." There was no anger in her voice. Rita sensed for the past few years that her mother was simply too exhausted to work up any anger.

"You're sixteen years old, you're old enough to know-"

"That's right, mom, I'm sixteen," she whispered in biting tones. Rita had to admit a night with Jared and company did not throw her into a frenzy of joy. But the idea of a night away from the house enticed her more than anything on earth.

"I'm sixteen and I've never had a night off in years. I've never gone to the movies with my friends. I've never been to a party without a piñata and a water balloon fight. I've never been to a school dance. What did _you_ do when you were sixteen?" She was quite unaware her voice had risen to a normal speaking tone.

"Things are different now, Verity, and you know it. I can't change everything just because you feel like playing truth and dare with some little girls," Mrs. Glisscielle half pleaded and half rebuked. "No one wanted this, but it's here, _she's_ here and all we can do is deal with it. It's all we can do."

She had plodded to the end of the hall way now. In a deceptively defeated manner, she leaned her head on a door. Closing her eyes as if trying to close off the guilt.

"Do you think I don't know that?" Rita hissed, returning to nearly silent tones. "I know, and I deal every single day. But mother," her timbre turned into one of despair, "I'm tired. I'm just so… _tired_. So tired I wish I _didn't_ have to deal any more. With my sister, with school, with…" 

Nothing but a sigh was heard in response. A flash of light caught her eye. She faced the wall to her right, examining her reflection in the mirror. Rita knew she bore strong resemblance of her mother. Presently, she looked at her face and envisioned her mother with more haggard worry lines. 

__

How selfish you are, she thought suddenly. _Do you think your mother wouldn't want a night off too? She has a job too. How dare you complain, now, just because these strangers must complete their insignificant mission. She has a sick daughter on her hands and now you are rebelling_.

"Listen," she began unsteadily, "you're right." Her voice dripped with shame. "I'm a self centered little demon. I'm sorry.. We could do something tonight, you know, after Melissa goes to sleep." Rita knew that was impossible; all her mother wanted on the weekends was repose. "I'll just go rent some movies and we'll-"

"Don't bother." Rita stood stunned, jaw dropping. "I'll have your things packed up and waiting in the drive way."

The young girl quickly recovered from the shock. "But, mother, you've never taken care of her all by yourself. She's used to _me_ during the day time."

"I'm sure I can handle her."

"I don't want you feeling guilty. You've done a good job with everything so far…you shouldn't feel guilty about anything." 

There was a strained laugh on the other end of the conversation. "Don't go trying to make me feel better, Verity. I can handle it."

"Mother," Rita replied, somewhat impatiently, "You don't know the routine for the weekends. I do. If you change the routine it might throw her off."

"_Verity_." Mrs. Glisscielle made no pretense of her irritation. "Let me handle this. I know what to do. She's my daughter."

"But you don't _know_-"

"You're sixteen," her mother informed her, as if that was an argument. "Only sixteen." A second later, Rita heard the dial tone.

Again Rita looked at her reflection, wondering if she had unknowingly manipulated her mother into relenting. The possibility was disturbing. Like her daughter, Mrs. Glisscielle could not hide her emotions in her voice, expression, or manner. Rita felt as if her mother said, "Go ahead, take one night off. We both have the rest of our lives to deal with our problems." One night off for good behavior she supposed.

Warily, she made her way back to the living room and handed the phone to Rik. Hopefully, no one had heard her conversation. It was too personal for virtual strangers to know; after all, even her acquaintances of many years did not know about her family life. And she intended to keep it that way.

"I have to pick up something at my house. She's letting me stay though." Rita's composure was noticeably shaken. "Can one of you drive me?" Minutes later, she found herself in the front passenger seat of the Mustang, with the red headed speed demon next to her. Faintly, she hoped they would not crash into a light pole after her mother had so generously gave her a free night. It would have been such a waste.

Now that they were alone, Kyros Snow bided the time by studying the new character in his life. Daybreak skill. As she sat fidgeting, peculiarly pinching her fingers, Kyros scrutinized every inch of the girl. In a purely scientific perspective, of course.

Plain on the first glance, and then less than plain on the second. The bookish girl had admirable tawny skin, although faint worry lines appeared around her eyes. Dark brown hair was tragically imprisoned in a strict bun. She was slender and seemingly evanescent, as if she went where the wind carried her. Her own face contradicted her personality. With her wide beguiling dark eyes, that murmured knowledge they were not supposed to have. Mischievously clever, or was it the Old Soul wisdom? She had a cupid's bow mouth, one that should have smiled alluringly instead of fretting tiredly. Everything, except her drab garments, confined hair and expressions, and sadly mature eyes, deemed Rita Glisscielle a whimsical rover. Pity something made her grow up so fast. 

"Some day, isn't it?" The sound of his voice was the only thing that blemished his knightly appearance. Strikingly handsome, she thought. He had a strong accent; New York Rita guessed. He asked, "So you have a sister, huh?"

"Go straight at the traffic light. Yes, I have one sister." 

"Why do you have to take care of her?" The conversation was heading down the wrong road.

"It's rude to pry. Turn left at the stop sign."

Kyros gave her a baffled look and made a bruising turn. "Why? What's so rude about asking about a baby sister? I was just gonna ask why did you put her in a daycare to save some work."

"I'm sorry," Rita instantly apologized. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I just get a little grumpy sometimes. Just go straight until Providence Circle. It'll take a while because this is a long road." Kyros shrugged.

"It's all right, considerin' what you've been through. So what's the deal with you and your mom? Is she a workaholic or somethin'? Sooner or later we'll find out," Kyros prodded her when she didn't answer.

Sighing, she shook her head. "No, my mother doesn't work too much…and in a way she does. My sister…she isn't a baby," she confessed softly.

"What, twelve, or a preteen? She's old enough to stay at home all by herself then. You'll spoil her if you do everything for her," he advised her knowingly. "I got an eleven year old sister and you couldn't tell by the way she dresses, like a freakin' whore, ya know what I'm talkin bout? Any way, I tell my parents that if they don't stop this now, it'll get worse when-"

"No, older than that," she quickly cut him off, sensing his continuation would lead to a head ache or coma.

"Fifteen?" She shook her head.

"Sixteen?" He asked in disbelief. Again, she answered negatively. "She can't be older than you; it doesn't make sense if you have to take care of her."

"Twenty," she informed him, wondering why she had told a perfect stranger. Her classmates didn't even know she had a sister. "Twenty and…disabled."

"Oh…sorry," he murmured. Swallowing, he attempted again. "Like in a wheel chair? A friend of mine is in a wheelchair, because of the Battle. He gets around pretty good, though."

"Sometimes she walks, sometimes she doesn't. But…she isn't quite the same, you know mentally."

Once again, she drew an "oh" out of him. "Car accident?"

"How did you know?"

"Car accidents are the leading cause of death in teenagers in America today. Betchya didn't know that did ya?" Rita vaguely remembered the fact from driver's ed, but nodded anyway. She found Kyros' childish display of knowledge endearing.

"Drunk driver? The other car, I mean, not your sister."

"No. Turn left here until the sixth house on the right. High driver, driving my high sister. This neighborhood used to have a big brick sign you know. Right out front."

"What happened to it?" Kyros asked, curious about this sudden change of subject.

"They happened to it. My sister and her friend." Anger automatically washed over her. Not at her sister. Towards the drug dealer who had given Melissa her first cut. Rita willed herself to placidity. "I don't know how they couldn't have seen the huge wall, but they didn't and slammed right into it. Nothing but rubble left. Here we are." Much to her surprise, Kyros left the car and retrieved the duffel bag for her. Seeing her raised eyebrows, he shrugged, a mannerism Rita guessed he did often.

"Winnie's been givin' me tips on gallantry. I try not to listen, but sometimes I end up remembering. Go on with your little story."  


"Well…that's it. My mother and I take care of her, and a nurse does when we're out. To tell you the truth, I don't know why I'm telling you this. Naturally, you'll keep this between us?" He nodded. "Are you sure you're not pulling some supernatural trick to make me more talkative?"

"Nah, Winnie's the witch not me. I'm just a regular old fox shifter."

"A what? Shifter?"

"Yeah, you know, shape shifter. We shift our shapes, hence the name, shape shifter. C'mon Rita it ain't that hard."

"So you, Rashel, and Quinn are shape shifters?"

"No," he answered in surprise. "I guess we didn't really explain this whole thing, did we?"

"Thoughtfulness is not one of your strong points," she confirmed. "Sorta left me out in the dark about everything."

"My bad. Here, I'll explain it on our way to McDonald's; I could tell you're starving. Any who, there is, well, was two main organizations. Night World and Circle Daybreak." Then Kyros spent an inordinate amount of time explaining the two, with his own opinions, ending with, "So, Night World sucks."

"Well then, I don't like them very much either." Kyros smiled. She reminded him of Nissa. She's pretty, he realized then, after the comparison, digressing a bit. Not as ravishing as Winnie, nor as exotic or majestic like Maria. Of course, all three didn't compare to Nissa. But, still, glasses and all, maybe less plain than previous thought. Her eyes weren't just tilted, nor almond shaped. Eyes that held all the knowledge of time, the lily pad colored orbs trying to hide it. He realized he'd been staring when she cleared her throat.

"Around the late nineties, humans and Night Worlders began to have a soul mate link; whether they wanted it or not. The principle says there's only one person for one person in this world and that they're meant to be together."

"Sounds perfect to me." Rita fantasized briefly of meeting her soul mate. He would not have to be handsome. Just trustworthy, sweet, and smart enough to rescue her from the fate of her mother. Single, poor, and entirely responsible for an invalid. And, naturally, he'd love her entirely. "Rashel and Quinn are soul mates?"

"Yup." Then, without a much needed warning, he launched into the recent battle between the two organizations. Prophecies, people with their own "private lightning shooters," an island, turncoats, his own glorious role…until, finally, victory. 

"And it's your job to exterminate?" By this time, they had reached the boarding house.

"Yeah, Thierry thinks it's safer that way. Thierry's our boss. Get it?"

She nodded, stepping out of the car. "So you're a fox shifter?"

"Yeah."

"Show me," she demanded. Kyros looked quizzical.

"Show you what?"  


"The money," she answered dryly and shook her head at his confused smile. "Show me how shape shifters shift. As proof." Kyros saw the impish curiosity on her face. After a cautious look around for any audience, he complied.

In astonishment, Rita watched as Kyros' tall body gradually shrink. His thin arms shorted, his hands grew black and the fingers became little nubs. It seemed that his flaming red-orange hair shortened but also spread over his body. His brown eyes grew, and in place of his nose a muzzle grew. In the end, a sleek and rather large fox fidgeted mischievously in front of her.

Before she could react verbally to the adorable little creature, Kyros immediately returned to his former appearance.

"Happy?" 

"Rather impressed," she corrected with a smile, which was warmly returned, and briskly trotted to the door and up the stairs. He followed her form, admiring her easy grace as she climbed the steps. Vaguely, she reminded him of a ballerina. Tall for a ballerina, a few inches shorter than himself, but she still had the fluid movements of one.

"So I guess these Wild Powers are celebrities in your organization, huh?" She turned to him once she reached the top. Jared opened the door, but neither noticed as they swept past him. They heard bustling in the bedrooms. Someone had left the television on.

"Yeah, regular modern day heroes. Besides, us, of course," he added smugly. Since those in the living room had vacated, they took seats there, finishing their meal.

"Have you met them?"

"Never formally introduced to Iliana, or Jez. Delos hates me, but yeah I met the fourth one. We dated for a while."  


"You dated one of the four people who saved the world?" Clearly, she didn't believe him. Why on earth would a girl date Kyros when she had the world to save? She hid her smile by biting into her chicken sandwich.

"Hell yeah I dated her. You don't believe me?" Rita shrugged nonchalantly. "I gave Maria her first hickey." Rita rolled her emerald eyes.

"God, you got him started on the 'first hickey' thing?" Rita jumped; she hadn't even heard Quinn walk in. "He thinks he ought to get a monument for it."

"So what happened? Why'd you break up?" Rita spied a smirk on Quinn's normally expressionless features.

"The girl got a soul mate," he explained, evidently annoyed with the fact. Kyros said "soul mate" like one would say "a bad dog." He threw his hands in the air, not enjoying reminiscing that part of the relationship.

"How dare he get in the way," she murmured, amused at his tone. 

"I know it," he agreed righteously. "I thought we had a good thing going, too."  


"Pity she had to go with her one true love," she went on, mocking the shifter's mood.

"Yeah, and I had her first."

"She betrayed the man who gave the girl her first hickey. It's practically adultery," Rita laughed. Kyros discovered she did not, in actuality, concur with his attitude towards the ordeal and, after some pouting, smiled as well. Quinn's face faded into one of boredom when he saw there would be no more teasing his partner. Later he left the building altogether. Rita guessed it was vampire business.

"What are you?" Kyros wondered aloud after studying her profile focused on the television. Her dark brown hair would have made him guess French or English, but her copper toned skin drew a blank.

"Human," she answered readily. "Didn't you know?" Rita didn't turn to face him; MTV was on and she hadn't watched it in a long time.

"That's not what I meant-"

"A girl. You didn't notice that either?"

"No. Your ethnicity, what's in you? You got some strange coloring." Although it was not exactly a compliment, Rita smiled. At this time, Rik silently entered the room and settled on the leather recliner.

"Why? Do you feel like having French liver tonight?" He queried pleasantly. "I think hers is too small for you. A bit thin, you know."

"Do not speak of me as if I were not here," she chastised primly. Turning to Kyros, she answered, "The boy is correct. My last name is French. But he did not tell you my full ethnic background."  


"Do not speak of me as if I were not here," she heard Rik mimic her, still not turning to face them. 

"Any ways, Spanish. My mother's parents emigrated from Spain. I can trace both my families back six hundred years," she added, with a bit of pride. "What can you do?" she asked him curiously. The commercial break had ended, but Rita dismissed the program. A whole new species was much more interesting.

"We're strong, and we change, as you saw before. Dragons, the earliest form of shape shifters, can change into anything they want."

"Now _that's_ something I'd want to be." Briefly, she imagined herself turning into a dove and flying millions of miles away from Anomina.

"Only their descendants, like this guy named Galen, got the washed out ability. They could choose what they want to be and then they're stuck with it. Other wise, the rest of us are what we're born as. Unless you're bitten, of course. Once bitten, a human becomes whatever bit him."

Rita turned fully towards him, sitting Indian style. She sat for a moment, digesting the information. "So what can witches do?" Rita noticed she no longer heard screaming fans and saw Rik had turned the tv off and swung his chair to face them.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Everything," Winnie corrected in a sing song voice as she sailed in, cell phone in hand. She had changed into silk red pajamas. "Look," the witch demanded to Kyros and Rita, "It's a new sorta trick."

For five seconds, Rita stared at the witch, who did nothing but concentrate. It wasn't until Kyros let out an impressed whistle that she realized the trick was over. "What is it? I didn't see anything."

"That's exactly it," Winnie replied excited. "Kyros saw my hair turn brown. But you didn't."

"Does this mean I'm special?" Winnie gave a silvery laugh; Verity took it as a no.

"That means I was being selective. Projectional sort of illusions. I send the image to Kyros' mind, but since I didn't send one to you, you didn't see it. After some practice, I'll be able to send Kyros an image of me, but a different image to you."

"Hey, babe, send images to me all you want." Winnie paused in her explanation to slap the back of his head. She continued, explaining that they could conjure spells for anything. 

Rita thought for a minute before asking, "So why not come up with a cure for herpes and get filthy rich?"

Winnie rolled her pretty eyes at the boys' laughter. "It's just not what we do," she explained, condescendingly.

"In other words, they don't have cure for herpes," Rik told Rita.

"No, but a spell should give you two a terrible rash where one should not get rashes," she threatened, piqued at the truth of his statement. "But at least we're smarter than vampires."

"I, naturally, disagree." Only Winnie and Rita gasped at Quinn's voice. The other two had heard his entrance only minutes earlier.

"God, can't you wear a cowbell or something?" Rita sighed, hand at her heart in fear of cardiac arrest.

"I don't have anything that would match a cowbell." Before he moved farther into the room, his eyes scanned the kitchen, hall way, and farther into the living room. "Where's Rashel?"

"Talking to Keller," Rik replied. 

"That's Galen's soul mate," Kyros whispered to Rita while the two conversed. Being so close to Winnie, in such heathen bed clothes, obviously made the shifter nervous. He moved to the floor next to Rita only seconds after the witch settled next to him on the couch. 

"As I was saying…how do I put this in your terms, Winnie…plants. If compared to plants, vampires have all the intelligence and prowess of a venus fly trap."

Winnie glared. "And witches are what? A daisy?"

Quinn all but stalked into the room, reminding Rita of a feral animal on the prowl. He snorted. "Hell no. You're the fertilizer…ah, ah, ah. We spoke of this; no killing the bosses."

"Not until after the mission," Winnie chirped lethally. 

"State your powers," Rita commanded Quinn, feeling as if she was interviewing for a super hero position. He answered in a falsely modest voice.

"Everything. We're stronger, faster, smarter." Rik calmly nodded in concord.

"And more full of shit than a cow field," Winnie remarked. The vampires' wounded pride was obvious on their handsome faces.

"Not true, but we can control minds. Basically order people not to skewer us."

"How does that work, exactly?"

Quinn shrugged. "Sort of like arranging them, or just plain deleting them. Like files on a computer. We can create thoughts too, in order to cover whatever we've interfered with."

"So you can make people think things. Like, if you fell and I saw, you can make me think you never ate it up." Quinn nodded, although he doubted he would ever trip.

"So if somebody…let's call him Bob. If Bob got hurt, I mean hurt real bad, and it has lasting effects… Could you put coherent thoughts into her head? Like 'you're twenty years old, you can feed yourself, you're supposed to be in college.' Could you do that?"

Everybody noticed the "her," an apparent change in Bob's gender. Quinn shook his head. "That's more of a physical condition than a moveable thought."

"Oh," she murmured, trying to hide her disappointment. Naturally, she failed, but nobody pressured her to explain. 

"And what are we so chatty about?" Rashel entered the silent room, her lovely black hair caught in a bun much like Rita's. "What are we doing now?" Jared followed soon after.

"Teaching me about the secret species. Witches are smart, Shifters…well, shift, and vampires are very…arrogant. And fast, I was going to mention fast," she added quickly, seeing Rik take offense.

"Did they mention werewolves?" Jared asked, offended. Seeing Rita slowly shake her head, he sighed.

"Just like these snobs. Of course, just forget the noblest species in the Night World. You're in my spot." Winnie rolled her eyes and grumpily left her seat. Jared plopped down comfortably on his couch, his body fitting perfectly in the pre made dents in the leather. 

"So what do you do? Tuck your tail between your legs and howl at the moon?" Ever since her drive with Kyros, Rita decided she could speak freely with the boy, even if it was for just one night. 

Jared glared at her the same time Kyros confirmed her question. "Sometimes they howl at the sun, god help the stupid mongrels. Werewolves, gotta love 'em. No, no wait that's wrong… It's gotta bathe 'em. That sounds right."

"No," Jared growled. "Werewolves are strong. Stronger than a hundred wrestlers put together."

"And dumber then a hundred rocks put together," Rashel finished for him.

Rashel was surprised to see Rita shake her head in disagreement. "Now, Rashel," she admonished, "that would be offensive to rocks." Smiling, Rik glanced at Jared's reaction, then his watch.

"Five thirty. Gotta go talk to Mr. McCullen about your car," he sighed and left as he was, t shirt and shorts. 

"So what do we do?" Winnie asked nobody in particular.

Sensible Fayth suggested dinner. The other three girls readily agreed and opted for pizza. Rashel left to retrieve a lap top from Fayth's room and allowed Winnie to maneuver to Thierry's Night World Profiles. Research, Winnie had told them. 

"So what do _we_ do now?" Kyros asked Rita, as if they were the only two left in the room. Jared seemed as animated as…well, to be truthful, rocks. Kyros looked at her, reminding Rita of a tall Dennis the Menace in search of trouble.

"You go ahead and do whatever you want," she yawned, stretching. Rita left her position on the floor and laid back in the recliner. "I'm going to sleep all by myself."

"But then I can't do what I want to do," Kyros teased, just for the fun of seeing Rita blush. He was not disappointed. The girl's workaholic, sensible nature made him want to disconcert her as much as possible.

"Oh…do hush up. Some people have resting to do."

"Yeah," Jared seconded the motion, "so screw off."

"Only if Rita holds me afterwards," he answered cheerfully.

Rita, unable to relax, scowled at the two of them. One would have never of guessed Jared had insulted Kyros; the werewolf appeared to be angelically dozing.

"Is this some sort of territorial thing? Because if it is, please, go outside and pee on a street light if that's what it takes to assert your dominance. Just be _quiet_."

"Jared can't. He doesn't have the equipment to mark his territory standing up." With complete tranquillity, Jared grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head. Rita sighed and retreated to the kitchen. Fayth, again disliking the girl to be in the way, directed her to the guest room. When the pizza came, Fayth said she would be summoned.

Under her persisting, Rita relented. Not at all hurt by the demand, she trotted to the room and plopped onto the bed in a manner similar to Jared's. The day was not yet over and she could still see the setting sun outside the window and past the trees. But the correct bed time was of little consequence. It was the _fact _that she could go to sleep at a quarter till five that tickled her. No interruptions, no bangs on the wall, and no dinner to make. _I_, Rita reveled with childish joy, _can take a nap._

What a sad loser I must be if I'm excited in taking a nap, she thought later. But there was no time to analyze that thought. Dreams were already encasing her mind.

~*~*~*~

Prior Past

"Oh mi Dios," she gasped, and whirled to face her husband. Trembling fingers made the sign of the Cross as she breathed the words.

"God would not help a sinner," he responded vehemently. She did not hear his virulent words. Her eyes were focused on his hand.

"What is that?"  


"I thought I saw an intruder in the stables. This would have taken care of him. It's called a cross bow, stupid," he added impatiently when he saw confusion still rested on her heart shaped face. He began to circle them. She made sure to stay between her husband and the man who always protected her. The horses neighed softly, prancing nervously in the other stalls. From atop a short stall wall, a candle he had brought with him valiantly fought the blackness. Flicking shadows danced across the faces of all three. The incensed one even moreso. She was afraid, and they both knew it. She was afraid, but angry.

"I won't let you take him away from me."

"Tana-" she heard from the man she shielded. A hiss startled him to silence. Her husband's hand tensed on the weapon. Her hand, which had once stroked his face lovingly, swung out to slap him. The fear inside her grew when he simply turned his head, eyes moving to her friend.

"No," she snarled. Both males were surprised by the seething violence in her voice, her jerky movements. "No. You leave him alone. You may hurt me, but you don't touch him," she ordered, a warning laced with her words. It went unheeded.

"If this is how you are influenced, then I am happy I brought this," he stated coldly. His eyes were void of any emotion other than retaliation. Once, she had naively thought them passionate. She knew better now; she knew _him_ better now.

Unexpectedly, her protector, her friend, the man she almost loved… leapt at him. 

"No!" she shrieked and lunged between them. Desperate was the only word for it. The man,uselessly battling against her husband, who refused to lose anything. Herself, forcing her hands between them before his neck was broken.

She could not keep hold on any part of them. She managed to catch her husband's attention for a split second.

"No lo lastime, por favor. Leave him alone. I'm sorry, please, forgive me. Perdonme, estoy apesadumbrado," she begged. He merely glanced apathetically at her before brutally pushing her away. She scrambled to get on her feet, and ran again to the men. Her fingers landed on something sharp, blood dripped from the cut. Suddenly, a sweet and disturbing smile appeared on her face.

She wrenched the weapon away, learning the mechanics of it before her husband could advance an arm's length. Unsteadily, she raised the cross bow, leveled at his heart. The smaller, but nobler young man laid on the hay behind him. His eyes were closed, and blood ran from his nose and mouth. Red stinging anger blurred her vision. Horses reared now, their hooves thundering against the walls. Warily, she moved backwards to the candle, finding comfort in the light. 

"Bruja. Is this how you honor your vows?"

Her jaw dropped involuntarily. "I'm sorry. You broke yours. I hate you for it. Yo lo odio."  


She wounded him. A tiny gleam of pain passed in his eyes before it vanished. But it was enough. She wanted to dance with joy. She injured him, with three little words. _And he called _me_ weak_, she scoffed. 

But now was not the time to rejoice. Only a time to take care of the bad man. The man who hurt her, manipulated her, took away her friends. The man who hated her.

Eyes hardening for the first time in her life, she aimed the arrow point and pulled the trigger.

"I'm sorry," she whispered one last time.

~*~*~*~

"What's the matter with her?"

Dreams quickly eluded her. Rita rolled over, searching for the peaceful slumber. Those discourteous voices were not helping, however.

"C'mon, rise and shine. Wait…does the moon shine?" Winnie asked somebody.

"No, it really just glows, like a pearl." _Kyros the poet_, she thought caustically. Acknowledging that she would not return to sleep until they went away or somebody knocked her unconscious, Rita reluctantly opened her eyes.

"Ah, sleeping beauty awakens," Kyros announced and literally dragged her out of the bed. Rita stumbled before falling in step with the fox shifter. She blinked several times, letting Kyros drag her to the kitchen. A semi circle of pizza lay in an open box. The others were in the living room, but their faces were slightly blurred.

"Where are my glasses?" A bedroom door slammed shut. Winnie walked in with seemingly empty cupped hands.

"These glasses?" Rita peered over the fingers.

"Oh no," she moaned miserably as Winnie dumped the bent frames and tiny shards into the wastebasket. "I must have rolled onto them while I slept. Darn it."

Kyros shoved a pizza slice into her hands. "Here, eat. It'll make you feel better. You can see the pizza, right?" Nodding, she sat down and began to bury her new financial problem with food.

"C'mon, let's eat in the living room. They have another riveting meeting on what we're gonna do."

She shook her head, but let out a "Hey!" Kyros had no trouble with the unwieldy chair and occupant as he carried it to the living room with one hand and the pizza in the other.

"Enter the informant, stage left," Rik murmured. "But nobody cued the bumbling idiot." Kyros ignored him.

"Told ya I was strong," he grinned at her indignant face and winked. Instead of warming to a pleasing shade of scarlet, Rita rolled her yes. 

"Were you crying over the glasses?" Jared asked in disbelief. Rita frowned and touched her eyes. Her eyelashes and cheeks were wet.

"No," she answered, confused. "That's weird…oh, I had a dream," Rita remembered aloud.

"A flashback?" Rashel asked interestedly. With the proper information from the girl, perhaps Ian Amaro could be weakened.

"Oh no, I don't think so," Rita replied quickly. 

Quinn made a noise of frustration. "But what happened?" He demanded. His tone prompted Rita to answer truthfully and immediately.

"He found the girl and another man in the stables. The men fought, the girl got his cross bow and shot him. And then I woke up."  


"Anything else?"

Rita shook her head, eye brows drawn together. "I don't think so. She hates him though. He hurts her, I think. The two are married. And she's very pretty."

"Then she can't be you," Jared declared. Quinn punched the werewolf himself. To Rita, it looked casual and playful, but by Jared's wide eyes and wheezing, it packed more power than it appeared.

"It's a sin to murder," Rita began conversationally. "Plus she already committed adultery. Frankly, I hope she's burning in hell as we speak." Winnie looked as if she were ready to strangle the girl. Jared pointed out that that was impossible because Verity received the recycled soul.

"The flashback doesn't say much about him," Fayth concluded, disappointed. She quickly moved on to other matters. "We've gotta know when and where all the next parties are going to take place. Jared and Rik, fill us in."

"Hey, don't look at me," Jared muttered, still clutching his stomach. "I'm not even sure if I qualify as a high school student any more."

"He doesn't really attend that much," Rik explained. "Then again, neither do I. Plus I have that I have that habit of tuning out when humans speak to me…" He shrugged apologetically. Rashel sighed.

"Then we have to find out tomorrow morning. Moving on-" Rashel stopped, puzzled by Rita's raised hand.

"Didn't want to interrupt," she explained, lowering her arm. "But, um, there's a Christmas party tomorrow night at Scott Buffington's house at nine o'clock."

"How do you know?" Jared questioned with skepticism.

"An acquaintance told me. Everybody will be there, even if it is Sunday. Supposedly, only friends invited."

Rik snorted. "Whatever. I heard of Scott's parties. Half of the people who end up there don't even go to our school." Rita nodded.

"Yes, but only after midnight. At the beginning, though, he's usually pretty sober. Sober enough to check who's coming in the house. You guys want to be there before strangers come to make sure nothing happens right?" All looked to Rashel, who nodded after some thought.

"Then you're our ticket in," Quinn stated flatly, before Rita could argue. "Now we have a list of the 'neutral' people here, do you socialize with them?" Rik took the list and eyed it briefly.  


"Some. In case you're wondering, it takes bribery and black mail to get these people to help with whatever you're doing." Again Rita raised her hand.

"I can't go the party tomorrow night."

"For Goddess' sake, why?" Winnie let out, irritation reaching boiling point.

"I have things to do," Rita responded defensively. "You can't just expect me to drop everything for your stupid mission."

"Even if it means the lives of your class mates?" the witch asked bitingly.

"They never did much for me," she snapped. Rita bit her lip, not at all meaning the callous words. _Of course_ she would care if her class mates died; it would have been wrong not to care. 

Winnie glared at her; Rita scowled back. Kyros cleared his throat. "Oops, Rita, we left your bag in the car. Let's go get it," he suggested brightly. He tugged at her elbow until Rita was out the door, her eyes never leaving Winnie's.

Kyros laughed once the stood in the chilly night air. "Brave, Rita, really brave. A cat fight would have been entertaining, but not too bright. Like she said before, she can give rashes," he warned as they walked to the car. 

"I don't care, Kyros. I can't stay away from home one more night. Melissa needs me, and so does mother."

"Didn't you say you had a nurse?" He unlocked the trunk and pulled out the bag. 

"Yes, but she doesn't work weekends. We don't have enough money for that."

"Well…" Kyros leaned against the wall, contemplating the problem. Rita wished he would think faster. In Kyros' haste, he had pulled her out without a jacket. He only noticed when her teeth began chattering. "We better solve this inside." Rita moved towards the door, until she saw what he meant; Kyros opened a car door for her. 

"That petulant gallantry again?"

Sagely nodding, Kyros tapped his head. "It just gets stuck." They sat in the car, Kyros starting the engine to turn on the heat. Rita warmed her hands on the vent as the windows fogged up.

"We could convince her to work out of the goodness of her heart." Rita was about to spill all her unkind thoughts of the woman when she saw Kyros' roguish gleam in his brown eyes.

"But I thought you said shape shifters can't control minds."

"We can't. But vampires can. Don't start whining, Rita it's the only way. Just give me her address later. Which one, Quinn or Rik?"

"I guess Quinn, since he'll be here for only a couple more weeks. You sure he doesn't already know?"

Kyros made a negative _hmm_. "He was too busy arguing with Jared about something during your phone call." Rita smiled.

"I don't see how Rik puts up with him. He's rude, coarse, swears like a sailor…"

"Yeah, I don't see why the hell the damn dog has to fucking swear all the time," Kyros agreed in mock earnest. Rita hit his arm.

"Go ahead and make fun. But vulgar language just reflects bad upbringing. According to…well, I don't know who, but people say that."

"Oh, I completely agree. Jared acts as if he was raised by a pack of wolves."

A knock on the window made Rita jump, bumping her head on the ceiling. Kyros rolled the window down to find Rik staring at them with suspicious eyes. Rita rubbed her head, not at all bothered by his thorough gaze.

"Yes, we'd like some fries, two large cokes, do you have the happy meal…" Rita clamped her hand on Kyros' mouth, seeing that Rik was not in the joking mood. She drew it away when he bit her.

"What are you two doing?"

"What does it look like we're doing? Now, please, take a step back and give us some privacy."

"Talking," Rita corrected swiftly. She knew that Rik would take her word over Kyros'. After all, she supposedly could not lie.

"Go back up. We still got some planning to do." The vampire turned on his heel and disappeared into the door. After a few more jokes, Kyros helped her out and they walked towards the door. Before she could grab the knob, Kyros rushed in front of her and opened it.

"Ladies first," he gestured.

"I'll have to thank Winnie on her tips of gallantry," Rita commented. Kyros bowed dramatically as she swept past him.

"It's not _her_ that's making me act this way," he hinted slyly. Rita said nothing, but her pace up the stairs quickened. The shape shifter smiled. His blood, he guessed, carried something that always made him want to toy with humans.

~*~*~*~

Rita had fallen asleep on the leather couch, much to Jared's dismay. It was three thirty in the morning and the planning had moved to the kitchen when Winnie complained of starvation. Nobody noticed the girl slipping away for some rest. The others would injure him some way or another if he harassed the human.

Disgruntled, Jared moved to a recliner. He only opened his eyes once when he heard Rita toss and turn. _Probably ruining all my pre made depressions_, he suspected.

Her face turned safely away, Rita smiled. She loved defeating Jared by simply lying down in his spot. She shivered and pulled Rik's jacket off an arm and wrapped it around her. _He wouldn't mind,_ she reasoned, _he doesn't even get cold._

She relaxed, looking forward to the rest of the day. Another day away from her mother and sister. Kyros assured her he would take care of it. 

~*~*~*~

"It's noon. What will you wear to the party?" Winnie all but shrilled into her ear. Rita sat up instantly, narrowly giving the witch a broken nose.

"What?"

"I said what are you going to wear to the party?" Rita shrugged. Inside, she was still uneasy with this witch with super model looks. She suspected Winnie felt the same way with her. But, for the sake of the team and mission, they'd cooperate.

"I don't know. Pants and a sweater I guess." Much to her surprise, Winnie grabbed her hand and pulled her off the couch. Rik's leather jacket slipped off and fell onto a cold slice of pizza with too much sauce. Rita winced when she saw it, but then decided to blame Jared should anybody ask.

"I said party, Rita, not Bible study group. Let's go to Fayth's room, my suit case is there. We can dress you up."

"I bet you had Barbie dolls as a child, didn't you?" 

Winnie opened the door and revealed a neat, clean room. One comparably messy corner was presumably Winnie's place of changing.

"Barbies? No, but I did have dolls. Esmerelda would go off to work running her own Circle while her warlock husband stayed home and took care of the kids. Good times." Rita thought the girl strange; growing up, her Barbie stayed at home while Ken went to run the hospital.

"I don't want to borrow your clothes. I'm sure they're very nice, but should they get damaged…"

"Shut up. How on earth did you become such a worry wart at sixteen?" she asked irritably, rummaging through a mountain of clothes. Occasionally, she'd throw a top or skirt onto the bed.

"I don't know," Rita softly. "School, I guess." _And they say I can't lie._

"Well, it's vacation now. Time to party, right?" Winnie laughed at Rita's clear apprehension. "Calm down, I'm not going to deform you. There's no need to put on makeup. We just gotta fix your hair and slap on pretty clothes." Winnie sighed when she saw Rita's constant reluctance. "There's no point in arguing."

Rita knew the last part was true. But she did not know her hair needed fixing. In fact, she had no idea it was broken. With slumped shoulders, she was shoved into a bathroom.

"Winnie?" Rita called, waiting for an answer. The witch made a faint noise. "Where are the others?"

"Jared and Rik went to the auto shop and they're going to return the car to your mother. Fayth and Rashel are out buying bed stuff and Kyros and Quinn taking care of some mysterious business. They left me to baby sit."  


Rita made a face while undressing. Winnie was most likely five years older than her, but definitely younger in maturity. Rita thought if anybody needed baby sitting, it wasn't her. 

Winnie heard steps coming up the stairs. "Hello?" she called softly. No answer. Before she left the room, she summoned a soft sphere of witch power and held it behind her back. Silently, she peered into the kitchen. A vampire leaned against the wall, staring back at her.

"Go head and throw it," Quinn dared coldly. Seeing there was no danger, Winnie let it fizzle out.

"For Christmas, I'm buying you the much needed cow bell," she stated, annoyed. "The least you could have done was say hi or something. I could have blinded you."

"I highly doubt that you'd even hit me. Perhaps the shifter, but not me."  


"Speak of the devil," Winnie said under her breath when a redhead appeared in the door way. 

Instead of quizzing the subject of their conversation, Kyros earnestly asked "Where's Rita?"

"Taking a shower," Winnie said as she walked back into her room. Kyros followed her.

"How long has she been awake?" Elbow deep in garments, Winnie was too preoccupied to answer. Either that or much too annoyed.

Rita stood in the scalding waterfall, letting the drops run down her face. The washing had ended five minutes ago. Now she simply let the strong current relax her tense body, not caring if the water changed from freezing to boiling every ten seconds. The silence, the water, and the room full of clouds and stars gradually persuaded Rita to forget herself.

Three bangs on the door. 

Rita gasped, eyes flying open. Three bangs, Melissa needed her. _Stupid, stupid girl_, she rebuked herself as she hastily grabbed a towel to cover herself. _You're not allowed to relax_.

"Rita, it's Kyros. Open the door." Rita released a long breath and sat on the covered toilet. Relief came in dizzying waves. She wasn't home, she was at Rik's apartment. Rita had almost forgotten.

"I'm naked," she said loudly, hoping he would hear clearly. Kyros laughed.

"Was _that_ supposed to deter me from breaking down the door?"  


"Did you and Quinn…take care of things?" she asked eagerly, looking at his feet's shadows near the bottom of the door.

"Yeah. He convinced her that it would be the right thing to do to work the weeknights cheaper and next couple of weekends for free. Your mom said it was okay if you slept over tonight."

Kyros nearly fell as the door opened. He quickly balanced himself before Rita could notice. 

"Really? Kyros, that's wonderful!"  


"Among other things," he declared, scanning her dripping body, barely covered by a green towel. "Nice legs." The door slammed in his face. A minute later, Rita opened it again, wrapped in a longer towel.

"That's wonderful," she repeated enthusiastically. "That means mother can have some free time, too. Wait…are you sure she agreed? I know from experience that hag…I mean nurse can twist words. I better just call her to check-" 

"Chill, Rita. I took care of it. Can't you at least trust me with this little thing?"

"But you don't know her like I do-"

Both turned to the sound of nearing footsteps.

"Stop sexually harassing the girl, Kyros. I heard about the fogged windows last night. Here are your clothes. Don't you dare refuse, I'm hiding your duffel bag." Winnie tossed her hair as she turned to leave, the lovely golden locks whipping Kyros' eyes.

"Do you happen to know where my bag is?" Rita whispered as Kyros rubbed his eyes. She did not look at the clothes; already she knew and Winnie had different ideas of fashion.

"No, and I wouldn't get it for you any way. I like Winnie's clothes. I'd like them even better on you," he added deviously, and walked away whistling. Rita scowled at his back, then disappeared into the bathroom to change.

~*~*~*~

"This is suicide."

Rita sat cramped between Kyros and Winnie in the back seat of the Mustang. Usually clinging for dear life at every turn, hurting somebody's arm. She had hoped Rashel would be a better driver than Kyros. But where Kyros drove at a mad speed for fun, Rashel did so for efficiency. Rik and Jared, she assumed, were to arrive later. At this moment, she was regretting she ever let the witch lay a finger on her.

"What?" Quinn asked.

"This jacket and this outfit." True to her word, Winnie did not put a smidgen of make up on her. But she did manage to squeeze her in the tightest ruby dress Rita had ever seen. She pulled her hair and burned her scalp with a torture device some referred to as a curling iron. It left a soft mass dusky, wavy curls, _controlled_ curls. And, on her feet, Winnie forced two strappy, completely insensible high heels. Their flaming color matched perfectly with the sausage wrap Winnie called clothing. Momentarily, Rita hated the price of being a chic woman.

"What's the matter with the jacket? Maria gave it to me. I can see how that outfit will get you raped, but otherwise the jacket…"

"Is a Yankee's jacket. I might as well have a sign that says, 'Abuse me, Red Sox fans. I'm with New York."

"Well, you shouldn't have left your jacket at school then. This is the thanks I get for letting you borrow it. After all, you did stain Rik's leather one," Kyros pointed out.

"That was Jared," she argued feebly

"Liar."

"That dress would certainly _not_ get her raped," Winnie argued, infuriated. After all, it did belong to the witch.

"No, just have strange men asking 'How much?'"

"What do you take me for, a prostitute?" Winnie demanded, voice rising, the same time Rita said, "I thought you said you liked Winnie's clothes." A bruising turn to the right slammed them into each other; Kyros was swung against the window.

"Quiet," Rashel ordered. "I'm driving here. It's already ten o'clock."

"Yes, she drives bad enough without distractions," Quinn commented smoothly.

"It's a great dress. It compliments her eyes." Rita noted Winnie sounded like the women on the Home Shopping Network.

Rita didn't accept "the eyes" comment. She suspected Winnie chose the spaghetti strap glittery scarlet dress for Rita to compliment her glittery green one. 

"It's very…Christmas-y," she had told her, examining herself in the full length mirror. Winnie appeared beside her. They looked like they belonged in some sort of winter holiday porno cover.

"Listen, I'm all I'm sayin' is it compliments her ass. That's all I said, there's no need to get mad and your dress-"

"Shut the hell up about my dresses. Only an idiot would think saying that was okay, you moronic shifter-"

"Did I curse? Did I curse at her?" Kyros called for a witness in the small car. Nobody answered. "No, so you better damn not curse at me again."

"You son of a bitch," Winnie cooed sweetly.

"Why the hell are you so mad? I just think it's a provocative dress,"

"You implied they belonged to a hooker!"

"No, no, no I did not! I implied that a hooker would wear 'em. That's a distinct difference, Winnie," Kyros argued.

"Distinct difference my ass."

"Which is so nicely complimented by that dress."

"I thought that was _my_ ass," Rita cut in, attempting to calm both passengers.

"Gasp," Kyros exclaimed, successfully distracted. "You said ass! Not bottom, not bum, not butt, and not rump. You said ass."

"I know what I said," Rita continued calmly. "But I was quoting. It doesn't count."

No more words were said in the car. No words _could_ have been said. The car came to a startling halt, leaving dark skid marks on the street behind them. Quinn, with a surprising outburst of emotion, poured forth a colorful stream of words describing Rashel's driving. Rita smiled when his soul mate simply displayed her third finger and exited the car. Rashel appeared at the door she was grasping for and roughly pulled all three from their seats. 

"You ripped her dress," Quinn remarked to Rashel after briefly glancing at Rita. Both women became irritated. It was Rita who spoke, hands on her hips.

"She did not rip my dress. That's just how far the slits go. And stop being so irate at her driving; we're all alive, aren't we?"

"Just barely," he answered flatly.

"We're wasting our time." It was the first time Rita had ever seen Kyros unhappy. "Let's go in."

"In" was the massive, traditional mansion sitting loftily atop a tree covered hill. Christmas lights lined every window, shrub, and architectural edge. Snow clung stubbornly to the rooftops. The window curtains were drawn, but failed to hide the party inside. Already, litter was strewn about the perfectly trimmed lawn. _Scott's lucky the neighbors aren't too close_, Rita thought as they trudged up the drive way. Music blared from the house, even from the seven car garage. She wondered how wild the party would progress after midnight.

The party was not so unruly that there was no bouncer at the door. And that bouncer was Scott Buffington.

__

Ah, Scott Buffington, Rita thought. The name, the mere sound of it, suggested idiocy. He manipulated people surprisingly well, for a man who once thought the New York Stock Exchange was a place where "damn Yanks trade cattle." Looking at him now, six feet or taller, with muscles more impressive than Rik's, she wondered why she ever liked the native of Alabama in junior high.

"Who's this fag?" Kyros asked aloud, unafraid that the student would hear him.

"The term is homosexual," Rita corrected in hushed tones. "And Scott is far from gay. He just wears tight shirts to show off his six pack." 

"And he's not gay because…" 

Rita hushed him urgently. They were now a few feet away from him. There was no guarantee of entrance if the jock overheard them questioning his sexuality.

"I don't know y'all," she heard Scott say suspciously. She could not see with Rashel and Quinn in the way. With disgust, Rita pictured Scott giving Rashel a filthy once over. After all, the velvet jump suit she wore left little to the imagination.

"But, you know me." Rita squeezed between the soul mates, nearly stumbling. "Hi Scott," she greeted him, collecting herself. But it was very hard to stay composed with Buffington staring at her like a piece of meat. "You did say student council was invited, right?"

"Yeah," her vice president said after visibly shaking himself. "I just didn't know you had a partying personality." With the same thoughtful treatment he gave Rashel, his eyes studied every part of her body. Well, not every part. They never went farther than her chest.

"That's not my personality you looking at," Rita said, affronted. She opened her mouth to inform him of the faults in his etiquette when a hand touched her arm. It was Quinn.

Rita was never very good at reading expressions. When somebody motioned her to stop whatever she was doing, she continued. Should anybody express wordlessly she should continue, Rita stopped. Which was why she and Quinn simply stood there in silence, one attempting to construe the other's mannerisms.

__

For God's sake, butter him up and let us in.

Quinn, being more perceptive on people's faces and their meanings, knew Rita had no clue how to exactly "butter him up."

__

Use your partying personality.

__

Again, I'm drawing a blank on what that_ would be…_

Sighing, Rita took a step closer to the conceited socialite. She looked up into his face, smirking so hungrily, and…called for Winnie.

"Yes?" The witch glided to the front of the group, her blue eyes wide, and her voice innocent. It was obvious who was more qualified in persuading the man.

After a few minutes of giggling, hair tossing, and several shy touches, the group was in. In the ante chamber, a butler took their coats. Rita felt naked without Kyros' jacket.

"Didn't I tell _you_ to convince him?" Quinn did not look pleased.

"I'm not one of your Daybreakers," Rita responded curtly as they moved towards the doors that vibrated to the beat. "You can't order me around."

"As long as you're apart of our team, you take the orders."

"I never wanted to be apart of your team. Besides, you can't expect me to be some undercover prostitute."

"Where else would a whore be?" Kyros quipped before an invisible wall of heat slammed into them. A second later, the music popped all their ears. The chaotic festivity engulfed them. Rita saw, with burning disapproval, a plethora of drugs and alcohol. They tried to stay together, but, after ten minutes, Rita found herself pressed against the wall with only Kyros by her side.

"This is a nice little tea party. Looks like your whole school is here."

Rita shrugged, watching the teenagers dangling from the chandeliers with curiosity. "That's entirely possible. Anomina isn't exactly booming with clubs."

"You'd think they'd turn down the heat. I'm just dying here," Kyros complained, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white collared shirt. "With all this pandemonium going on, there's got to be enough body warmth to thaw Siberia."

"You call this pandemonium? From what I've heard, the basement is usually twice as intense."

"Let's go visit. I just got orders to check the grounds for suspicious peoples."

They left the wall, weaving through the hordes of people. The males eyed her like candy. The females preened themselves the second they saw Kyros. Rita rolled her eyes.

"Rita!" She turned to the voice, expecting some shocked acquaintance. To her surprise, she found Ophelia Brown. The chubby girl giggled, half drunk. Kyros stood where he was, waiting for the meeting to end. Rita refused to let go of his hand; the last thing she wanted was to be alone in the crowd.

"Ophelia! What are you doing here?" 

"I got an invite. I'm going to do Scott's homework." Rita's eyebrows shot up at the girl's bluntness. 

"At least Scott made no pretense of requited affection this time. I don't think you should drink," Rita chided and took the cup away from her hand. No trash can in sight, Rita emptied the contents on the beautiful crystal white carpet. 

"All right," the girl giggled again and nearly fell over. Ophelia found it hysterical; Rita worried over her condition.

"Listen, do you have a ride home?" Rita felt Kyros squeeze her hand tightly. She didn't care if her friend's condition spoiled the little mission. It was possibly Ophelia's life at hand. To Kyros' relief, the girl nodded her cabbage patch doll like face.

"Okay," Rita said, still worried. "Just don't drink any more, understand me? Promise me."

"I promise," the girl sighed and slumped against the desk. Her face showed sleepy contentment.

Impatient, Kyros pulled the girl away. When she resisted, he threw her over his shoulder, making sure nobody got a view of anything through the high slits.

"Kyros, you're acting like my moronic class mates. Please put me down."

"You're too slow," he explained, loving her warm honey suckle scent. "Plus I gotta make sure everybody sees you." That and he wanted to see if her long legs were as smooth as they looked; of course, all in sub-rosa.

"Why?" Rita attempted twisting out of his grasp, but then realized she would only fall five feet and then some if she succeeded.

"Because if Ian sees you're here, maybe he won't blow the place up or do whatever he's planning."

Rita surveyed the huge hall. Some party goers met her face with amusement, surprise, or no recognition at all. Then her eyes met a pair of dark brown ones.

"Jared and Rik are here," she announced and guided Kyros in their direction. She hadn't seen the pair all day.

"Drunk already?" Rik asked, amused, as Kyros dropped his burden like a sack of potatoes. Rita gasped as she broke a heel on her landing.

"These," she exclaimed, bending down to remove the injured shoe, "are Winnie's!" The men grinned upon seeing the heel clinging to the rest of the shoe by a thread.

"Here." Jared held out a hand. "Give me the other shoe." Inquisitive for the solution, Rita removed the wounded shoe's partner and handed it to the werewolf. Major mistake.

"Small foot," he commented before neatly snapping off the stiletto heel. Within one second, he swiped the other shoe and cleanly ripped the heel off as well. Rita stared aghast, unable to speak. "There. Now you can walk properly. Not like a retarded candy cane."

"The term," she spat out ferociously as she slipped her feet into the, now, flats, "is mentally disabled. You mangy, flea biting, insensitive…mutt."

"Book worm," he threw back, a bit nonplused at her vehemence.

"Want to make something of it?" She moved forward, as if ready to fight. Before Kyros could calm her, masculine hands reached from behind and gently held her back.

"Walter," she greeted the newcomer before turning. "How do you do?"

"Fine, now, Miss Glisscielle. I knew you'd come to the party." Kyros watched his eyes during the exchange. They never once strayed lower than her lips. Walter was then deemed trustworthy in the view of the surrounding males.

"…any way, we were just heading towards the basement. This is-"

"Bob," Kyros interrupted quickly, shaking the young man's hand. "Bob Steve."

"All right, Bob Steve. Nice to meet you. How you doin' Rik? Ever gonna come back to cross country?" Rik and Walter did their friendly half shake and half hug greeting before he answered.

"Nah, I got tired of the lack of competition." To Rik's friend, Walter gave an uneasy nod. Rita suspected he, too, had heard the strange stories about the werewolf. Jared did not return it.

"Since when did you know Washington?" he asked Rita tersely. Rita saw Walter's muscle tense at Jared's belligerent tone. Undisturbed by it, she shrugged indifferently. 

"For a while now. Let's go to the basement, Ky… Bob Steve. I'm tired of staying here." Kyros shook his head.

"You go ahead. Here," Kyros patted Jared's shoulder. "Jared will go with you." He nearly laughed when he saw both of their eyes bulged.

"Fine," the wolf conceded and followed Walter and the angry Rita into the crowd. Kyros turned to Rik, who smiled as well. Kyros took his hand and slapped a list into it.

"These are the people you gotta talk to. Take the first ten. I'll take the rest." Rik nodded and the two went separate ways.

"Why'd you come? To spoil my precious pleasure?" At some point during the quest of the elusive basement door, Jared latched onto her hand in order to stay with the two. Her other hand held Walter's. It reminded her of kindergarten field trips to the museum, when all held hands to stay together.

"To baby sit. I gotta make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"Why would _I_ do anything stupid? You are talking to one of the fifteen juniors who could graduate by the end of the semester. I'm ten times smarter than you."

"Yeah, like dropping Rik's leather jacket on the pizza was really intelligent. And then blaming me." 

It amazed Rita how two floors, merely inches apart, contrasted so greatly. It was a great deal warmer, and light was nonexistent except in the form of sparkles from the disco ball. Beer names spelled in neon lights lined the walls. People stood on tables, couches, anything elevated above the sea of dancers. The smell of alcohol and smoke (from what she hoped to be _just_ cigarettes) nearly suffocated her. They made their way down a stair case and Rita let go of Walter's hand. There was no need for it. Jared, however, kept his grip on her.

"Oops. Sorry about that. And sorry for snapping at you in the car yesterday," she added truthfully. Carefully, she picked a spot to place her foot as they descended into the lower level. Sticky, smelly objects made the path difficult.

"Look, it's our president!" Rita rolled her eyes, not meeting the source of the drunken announcement. She could not avoid the notorious John Otis, former child hood friend, when he grabbed her arm the second she set her foot on the actual floor. Several dancers looked their way.

"Do you even remember my name?" she snapped, stepping back and bumping into her escort.

"Miss President," John answered, laughing. "Here." He grabbed a plastic cup from a freshman who walked by. "Have a drink."

In order to be free of her classmate, Rita ungratefully accepted and then squeezed past him, Jared in tow. 

"Was that your hand that just took leave on my bottom?" She shouted to him over the roaring bass. The low beats seemed to engulf everything, even the melody and words. Jared shouted a no back, but Rita could only read his lips. She sat on the remains of a trashed classic juke box. Jared stood before, safely blocking her any hyper dancer who came too close.

"I think that was Otis," he yelled.

"Oh." She said no more when a couple, too busy exploring with their tongues who had the most fillings, violently collided with her seat. Had not Jared steadied her, Rita would have fallen. The lip locked pair paid no heed to them and continued their heated session.

"It's sex ed all over again," she murmured, eyes avoiding them. Jared's impatience matched their indifference and brusquely shoved them away. The male began to yell until he saw who gave them the wake up call. Then he moved away quickly. The female gave Rita a quick wave before following.

"Who was that?"

"Jasmine Evelyn. Sorta a friend of mine," she explained, scanning the room of the Amaro villain. Her acquaintances, many dancing, waved at her, and gestured for her to join them. She smiled and shook her head.

"You're one of them." Her eyes left the dance floor and bar when she heard his accusing tone.

"One of who?" she asked blandly, swirling the ginger ale John had handed to her.

"Them," he repeated in contempt. Rita saw he struggled to turn on a mental light bulb. "The popular pricks."

Rita had to laugh. And just minutes ago he had called her a book worm. "Am not." She was distantly surprised the boy would even pay attention to silly matters as that. Even she, president of student council, knew only a few notably prominent students; the rest of the acquaintances merely blurred into one social class. She took a sip of her ginger ale.

Jared waited for her to compose herself after she spat out her beverage. "Is ginger ale supposed to burn all the way down your throat?" Jared shook his head. "I thought so. Do you want this?"

Jared accepted the cup, and smelled the contents. "Cristal. Buffington's got good taste in champagne. One bottle costs three hundred dollars."

"Then it's probably his parents that bought it. Scott's taste never extends pass a Michelobe. Now what were you saying? Me, popular? If that's true, I don't think the planets are aligned correctly."

"You know everybody…"

"But, Jared, not personally." Her voice had taken the sound of a teacher explaining math to a child. 

"Then you're smarter than I thought. Personal attachments get in the way of a troubled life, don't they?" Rita glanced at him sharply.

"Yes," she agreed cautiously. "They do. How would you know? Your life is far from troubled, Jared Luna. You live with two friends, you've got a car. You can do anything you want when you want to do it."

"You want a car? I'm sure the Daybreakers' boss could arrange something. That guy's loaded."  


"Are you changing the subject?"

"Yes." Without warning, he moved away. Before long, Rita wordlessly lost his form in the crowd. So much for the baby sitter. Luckily, Walter appeared, asking for a dance. And he did so in a gentleman's manner, one hand extended. With such good looks and better decorum, Rita couldn't refuse. His reassuring smile made her forget she had never danced with a boy.

~*~*~*~

Rik followed Fayth's scent. She had refused a ride from anybody, saying she would walk. The human always had a habit of displaying her independence. But he had caught a whiff of her body wash and began to hunt her down, having already negotiated with his fellow neutral friends. The trail guided him to a wall, then to the center of hall, and then back to the entrance. Finally, he found himself plunging into a darker, hotter world. There was one wriggling mass before him, shouts and laughter attacked his sensitive ears.

__

I thought hell was supposed to have brimstone, he thought wryly.

Although his eyes were equal to those of a night owl's, Rik didn't bother search through the crowd until he singled out her beautiful face. Hours would pass by before he succeeded. The flowery scent still hung in the thick air, enticing him to follow. Faintly, he sensed his best friend's perpetual anger and new confusion. He left Jared alone; he refused to play shrink at a holiday celebration.

Much to his disappointment, the authorative Daybreaker did not await him at the end of his hunt. He stood, displeased, no less than ten feet away from his prey. In her place, Rita Glisscielle danced with Walter Washington. The fact of her dancing didn't bother him as much as the _way_ she was moving. Like a dancer, and certainly not the type that performed on stage. At least a stage without a pole in the middle.

Despite the developing debauchery before him, he observed that her face illustrated neither intoxication nor herbal influence. She merely smiled, completely guileless, and pressed her thin and languid body closer to Walter's. After a vampire's version of CAT scan, the possibilities of external alterations left his mind. Now he could fetch and chastise her without fear of mistake.

Rita was enjoying herself. Such intimate contact would have normally incapacitated her ability to talk, much less react to her friend's purely platonic touches. Because that's what they were. As handsome as he was, both knew they had known each other too long to get involved. Just friends. She guessed anybody who managed to get this close to her should be called a friend.

Her face glowed, the soft curve of her cheeks turning rosy. Rik supposed it was the heat and the music's raunchy lyrics. Either way, he did not like the way Walter smiled at her. His friend's gaze rested on her legs, which were more and more revealed as her skirt rode up. By accident of course, but Rita was either to distracted or innocent to notice. In his opinion, the knee length dress was much too small in the first place. Somebody was going to have to fix that.

She laughed when the people beside her finally noticed who she was. Now she knew why the loose girls of her school constantly wore their daring clothes. Shocking people was plain fun. For the most part, she ignored Raymond, the boy behind her. When a slower song came on, Walter shooed him away, and drew Rita's head to his shoulder.

"Didn't know you could dance that well."

"The affects of child hood dance lessons, I suppose," she laughed. It was surprisingly easy to laugh when there was nothing to laugh about. In the last seventy two hours, she had stumbled over a supernatural brawl, discovered four new species, learned about two major organizations, one of whom saved the fate of humanity, and had been transformed from book worm to the apple of Walter Washington's eye. Yes, after all those unbelievable events, it was very easy to laugh.

"Why'd you stop?" Rita didn't want the truthful answer to ruin the light hearted atmosphere. On the other hand, she couldn't lie. A rescue came in the form of a none too happy Rik.

"I'm cutting in." There was no question about it, and his blue eyes challenged Walter to protest. But, being the easy going man he was, Walter complied. He managed to wrangle a promise for the next dance before he left. From Rita, of course.

"That wasn't very nice," she scolded.

"That re-enactment of Dirty Dancing wasn't very nice," he returned.

"I don't remember asking for your approval," she snapped, but a guilty look spread on her face as she did so. "Perhaps we were a bit too close," she admitted shyly, "but I love dancing."

"It's always the quiet ones," he sighed. "Have you seen Fayth any where?"

"You look for her," she ordered tiredly, resting her head on his shoulder. "You're taller, now that _somebody_ broke the heels off my shoes. Did you know champagne doesn't taste very good?"

"You drank champagne," Rik repeated severely. He recalled the quiet, collected girl who helped him defeat Ian Amaro mere days ago. And he liked the girl just as she was, without the corruption the Daybreakers had thrust upon her.

"And spit it back out," she quickly clarified. The vampire suddenly gave her the impression of a disapproving father. "I gave the rest to Jared."

One second the two were dancing to a slow, almost magical rhythm, the next, violent threats and expletives screamed from the speakers. Somebody had decided rap was the best solution to the lack of energy on the dance floor.

"I'm going to find Walter," Rita told him brightly. Rik caught hold of a strap and maneuvered her to a wall.

"Oh no you're not. I don't like the way he looks at you."

"Since when were you my big brother?"

"Since I saw my student council president dry humping among these low lives. Now go talk to Jared," he ordered before she could verbally react to his blunt choice of words, "I think it's your champagne that's making him act so weird. I sensed he went outside."  


"I have to go upstairs?" Rita looked pensive; she preferred the dark lower level to the harshly bright main floor.

"No, he used the back door over there. Now go, and I don't want to see you within the twenty feet radius of Washington."

"What if he comes to me?"

"Then you move," he said succinctly before steering her in the direction of the werewolf.

Rita immediately regretted her compliance the moment she stepped out the door. A conversation with Jared no longer frightened the girl. It was the darkness of the backyard she did not like.

Goose bumps rose in her flesh as she stepped farther away from the refuge of the door. She didn't mind. Thick stucco walls held fast to the fracas and heat inside. The festivity seemed miles away. The waning moon lent little light, and even the stars appeared thrifty, refusing to twinkle brightly for the timid youth. She could barely make out the barbecue grill and patio furniture covered in sleet when she caught movement to her right, somewhere in the woods.

"Jared?"

It was hard to tell whether the werewolf ensconced himself among the evergreen and oak trees. Elm trees, of course, were in abundance. Scott's frost covered back yard, like his home, was mind boggling massive. The land could have held a private amusement park; instead, it hosted pool parties and barbecues that would have done well in a third of the size. His own miniature forest would have proven an obstacle if any one planned some major construction. Rita remembered Scott hunted a few times. _Southerners_, she thought with mild disgust.

Again, she heard a noise among the trees. Then low chuckling. Rita sensed whoever caused the sound did so on purpose. For the fun of scaring her. In an instant, Rita made up her mind. She refused to play paranoid victim for some pervert in the woods. It would have most likely added to his sick fantasies.

"You can come out now," she called defiantly. Carefully, she left the porch and ventured to the edge of the woods. _If this is Jared playing a stupid joke…"_Or are you scared?" There. That oughtta get the flea bag out. 

"A one legged octopus strikes more fear in my heart than Little Red Riding Hood." Rita made an admirable effort to quench the gasp and shriek rising in her throat. Then, with glacial elegance, she turned to Ian Amaro. One perfectly shaped eye brow raised.

Her green eyes flicked over him like he had done to her the first time they met. Except this time, the observer found the specimen pleasing to the eyes. Again he dressed in black, giving him the aura of darkness and mystery. She suspected he would possess that aura dressed in a fish net and leotard. The wind playfully ruffled his hair, but caused her own strands to whip her face. The boy looked no older than nineteen, but silently screamed centuries of knowledge.

"New students do not often get invitations," she commented haughtily. Rita had often seen the popular girls snub the lower, uglier, or poorer class mates. Her voice mimicked theirs. _You do not belong here. You're not of this class._

"I have my ways, Gitana."

Rita rolled her eyes, failing to notice how he stepped closer. "Please. 'I have my ways'? How cliché. And why did you call me Gitana? Before you said Tana."

"Very observant, Gitana. It's your name, you little fool." Rita blinked, and for a few moments was stunned. She had never met anybody who could say "you little fool" without sounding similar to an irate French knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The manner with which Ian Amaro spoke was utterly…baleful.

"My name is Verity. How many powdered doughnuts have _you_ had? All my other elevated class mates have never made up names before."

"Verity," he repeated, tasting the sound of it. "Hmm… truth? Now, now we both know the impropriety of that name. No, I do not like it. Your name is Gitana Amaro, my little gypsy."

Rita bristled at the term. "I am nobody's gypsy," she informed, offended. "What I meant to say is I am not a gypsy _period_. You want to play make believe? Fine, _I_ get to name you. Last name Jass, first name Hugh. Say it aloud." Her voice had become childishly spiteful.

Mr. Amaro refused to play along, however. With speed Rita couldn't quite register, he was abruptly inches away from her.

"You do not remember? I assumed with Night People and Daybreakers smothering this inane town, somebody would awaken your memory. Shall I help?" he offered, a devilish look smoldering in his near black eyes. Amaro stepped closer, forcing her to evade his touch. He smiled, as if he knew she would shrink away from him.

"No, no, definitely no. I've already learned enough about you, Amaro. You were mean to your wife…" She faltered, realizing "mean" was an understatement. "And you killed the only man nice to her. You took away the things she loved. You were…cruel."

"Why do you say 'your wife' and 'her'? You are my wife. You are 'her.' A little taller now, and lighter hair, but the face is the same. It's sufficient." He laughed, the sound reminding her of rolling waves of dark chocolate. Very dark.

__

Sufficient? Well, isn't that flattering… Again, the stranger advanced upon her.

An eerie growl interrupted their conversation. Others added to it. Rita's frightened eyes stared past Amaro and into the woods. Three big bad wolves had just found Little Red Riding Hood. _Really, really, really big_, she thought dumbly. She wished the Amaro character had a tree ax.

"Oh good gosh," she whispered, backing slowly away. The wolves, aberrantly large as they were stunning, prowled closer. Their eyes glowed with a perturbing lick at their lips. Silver shone beautifully off the backs of two. The other, the largest, had a reddish brown sheen, breathtaking to look at. It snapped when he saw Rita's receding form. She stood still in her tracks. Because she could not move, she thought out her panic.

__

Since when did we even have wolves in Massachusetts? Lord, please, I know I'm one of your worst children, but please, please, please help me. Send a Mounty, or the Coast Guard, anybody. Please, just let them eat him but not me Lord, please…

The leader remained in his tense pouncing position before Amaro. By wordless understanding, the other two circled him, until they formed a deadly animal triangle. And the man stood in the center of eager, chopping teeth, almost drooling with hunger. Ian Amaro did not care.

"Just like a stupid wolf, to give a warning before you attack. Does the thought of a surprise attack ever cross your innocuous mind?" The mahogany creature growled, his lip curling with visible abhorrence. "I thought not," Amaro snorted, calmly smoothing his sleeve.

One silver wolf lunged, her teeth audibly snapping as she attacked from behind. Amaro fell face down into the frozen mud. Rita nearly vomited when she heard a tearing sound, knowing very well it wasn't his shirt. But she couldn't look away as the wild creature ripped loudly at his neck. She hadn't known the man very well, but nobody deserved to be nibbled by wolves to death.

One hand neatly reached up and snapped the wolf's right hind leg like a toothpick with a stomach turning crunch. He flippantly smiled, twisting one broken leg. Her ear ringing yelps brought tears to Rita's eyes. The man was at ease carrying on a conversation while he tortured an innocent victim; Rita, on the other hand, had trouble standing. 

"I bet you always find yourself apologizing. Especially to your God. Do you think he listens?" It was a pitiful sight, the awe inspiring creature cringing in pain as Amaro smoothly broke another leg. Rita spied a truculent smile on his inhuman face.

"Stop it." She thought she had screamed it, but she heard herself in a hoarse whisper. Desperate, she glanced around. Nobody was in sight. Nobody could help her.

"She started it," Amaro replied calmly, not looking at his supposed wife. The second silver wolf let out a chilling howl and executed a frontal attack. Like his sister, he lunged, and snapped his jaws at his head. Rita stared with gruesome pleasure as blood ran like tiny waterfalls down the man's face. Sharp fangs dug deep into his cheek, his nose, and his head. The animal's nuzzle became pink with the blood bath. Again, she felt sick when she realized Amaro's mouth was now much larger due to the tearing.

She wasn't sure whether she should rejoice or cry when she saw his arms moving frantically, trying to grasp some part of the wolf. He fell to the ground with a thud on his back. The animal danced around and on him, easily avoiding the hands. The mouth never strayed too far from his face. Perhaps it found facial reconstruction enjoyable.

Amaro ceased his feeble movements. Rita could not catch his expression, but his body told her he had given up. Then his hand reached up and tore off one ear. Ian pushed the whimpering wolf off and threw away the dismembered body part like a piece of lint. Pink welts decorated his visage. He smiled at her, the way a matador would smile at his lady after slaying a bull. 

"I know you, Gitana. I know you think that if you behave well enough, God will save you. The truth is he won't."

The largest obstacle still awaited him. With a calculating look, the brown wolf circled him, seemingly awaiting his opponent's movement. _Can wolves plan?_ She thought faintly, holding her breath. Amaro made no inclination he would initiate the first move. The wolf, giving signs of impatience, did not lunge like his partners. He ran straight to the legs, ferociously tearing through the tailored black pants and nearly removing a muscled calf. Before Ian could grab hold of the animal, he quickly evaded his touch. Again he circled his prey, before moving in to damage the other leg. 

He has a different tactic, she realized. The wolf acted like a cat, crippling his prey every so often before coming in for the kill. Amaro clutched tightly at his calf, which was nearly falling off. The entire scene, with one horribly damaged man and two equally damaged wolves, was worse than the Alcohol and Drug Awareness Program video they showed freshman year. Her legs had a mind of their own and she found herself quickly backing away from the mutilation. 

The next time the wolf moved in, however, Amaro refused to gain another scar. Furious, he took the wolf by the neck and throttled him. The animal's head snapped back and forth like a rag doll. Ian carried it so that he could see his tormentor in the eyes. As large as it was, the wolf did not match Amaro's height standing on two legs. Pitifully, his legs kicked helplessly in the air. Then it's body rippled. The dazzling fur seemed to absorb into the skin, and the thin legs became thicker. The muzzle pushed back into his face, and the yellow eyes became less round.

Jared kneed Ian Amaro in the stomach and then punched his smirking face. Rita wanted to look away, because Jared was stark _naked_, but the progress of the fight was more important. While he doubled over, Luna slammed his elbow into his back, and caused the taller man to collapse on the ground. Rita knew he learned that one from some stupid wrestler show. 

"Kick them while they're down", people say. And that's exactly what Jared did. On his fifth kick, however, Amaro grabbed his bare foot and threw it, and him, in the air. Very much the same way he did to Rik on the last day of school. Jared landed on all fours and whirled to growl at him. He did not morph. Instead, he positioned himself like an Olympic runner, eyes still on Amaro. Rita realized what he was doing.

__

Oh no, she thought. _That stupid boy is going to ram into him._

Jared even dug his foot in the ground like a bull. Then, like a bat out of hell, he ran straight for Amaro, his upper torso bent. His hard head aimed for the man's stomach.

The matador stepped aside the last second. Jared ran straight into an elm tree. Victorious, he stepped over his nude inert body.

Ian Amaro turned to her with a blazing smile. 

"You believe your apologies will get you out of here; save you from your own life. But for that God won't save you, Gitana. _I_ will."

Fear set in once again, and her eyes frantically searched for a weapon. A large rock protruded from the ground and she struggled to pry it from the frozen ground. The man stood in front of her, an eye brow arched, wondering what she would do with hit. Hating the wait, Amaro grabbed the rock with one hand and gave it to her.

"There. Now what are you going to do with it?"

Oh, she was seething. Rita was furious with the man who deformed two wolves and had the other lying in la-la land. She hated the arrogant smile on his face. She had never been so incensed in her life, save the night of her sister's accident. That night she had put a hole in the wall with her rage. Right now she felt she could, no, _should_ do much more damage. 

With all her strength, she heaved the rock at him, straight at his heart. She was not totally ignorant of aim and speed, her weapon had both. But she did not consider was _his_ speed. And the fact that Jared stood directly behind him.

It was, strangely, like the sound of hitting cardboard. Thankfully, no crunches or cracks. But Jared looked like he had been kicked in the groin. Apparently, a werewolf's ribcage could hurt just as much as a human's. Especially when hit with a rock with the weight of a marble bust. He stumbled against the tree that had sent him reeling minutes before, eyes wide with shock.

Rita stared at him and then at her hand. Then at Ian Amaro, softly chuckling at her mistake. Rita _remembered._

~*~*~*~

Prior Past

…she aimed the arrow and pulled the trigger.

"I'm sorry," she whispered one last time. The golden arrow sliced through the air, speeding to her husband's heart.

He just stood there and smiled. A smile that had won her heart, a smile that told her to back away, a smile that made her cry…

For both of them, the instrument of hate soared far too slow. Perhaps he has accepted his fate, she realized. He made no effort to dodge it. She knew he was as fast as a cobra. Perhaps he knows this is what he deserves this.

He stepped on inch to the right. Just one inch. The arrow was undeterred by his movement. It wanted a heart, any heart. Her lover's heart.

"Oh mi Dios," she breathed. There was no need to make the sign of the Cross, for she did not call Him in vain. "Oh mi Dios, please come. Please, no, no, no…" She didn't know how, nor at what speed, but she reached him and gathered him in her arms. His heavy body made it difficult, and the spurting blood caused her dainty hands to lose her grip.

"No," she sobbed softly. "No, please don't." Her heart ached, more than ever. He was leaving her, leaving her with the monster. He promised to protect her and now he was leaving.

"Stay with me," she pleaded in a whisper. It did not matter if her husband stood there, making any plans with the man in her arms impossible. She could hope, she could always hope, that he survived and he would stay with her. He still gazed at her, after all. If his eyes were open, he could still live.

"Stay with me, quiero. I'll do anything you say, just stay alive…" Tears mingled with his blood as they streamed down her face. He closed his eyes. That did not matter. As long as his chest rose and fell, she would beg. "Don't leave me, I need you." She believed he was not dying. No, no, it was impossible for an angel to die, she reasoned desperately. "Please don't leave. I'm nothing without you." With fragile hope, she pressed her lips against his, hoping for the pleasant thrill. He did not respond and she could no longer taste any sweetness. Just bitter blood. 

"Quiero, please don't do that," she protested as frantic hands caressed his arm, his chest, his face. No response. "Don't, stop that," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "Please," she pleaded. But, his chest still rose and fell. She ignored the blood dripping from his mouth. She paid no heed to the blankness in his eyes. If he still breathed_, _he still lived. And he was still hers. 

"I need you. I am nothing without you," she whispered into his ear. Her small shoulders racked with the sobs, and shuddered in between them. Red stained hands traced his mouth, and smoothed his dark hair. "I need you. You are still mine." His chest fell. He did not take another breath. 

Her face crumpled, tears flowed like a flood. She backed away from the body, afraid to touch it. His blood was still warm on her hands, and covered her white night gown. His blood was warm on her hands. 

It was her fault. 

And the other man was laughing. His blue eyes danced with frigid victory. He assessed her wet eyes, bloody hands and clothes, and the broken blank expression. Her husband's grin widened. She wanted to run away, but she couldn't leave the body with him. The head would certainly hang in her bed room the next morning if she did so.

She walked over to the candle and pushed it over. Its tiny orange light consumed the wooden floor and then the bedding. The horse inside the neighboring kicked down the door. The flames licked at the bales of hay. The holocaust vouchsafed its attention to the rest of the stables, engulfing her husband's most prized horses. She would have cringed at their terrible neighs, had not her heart died.

"You little fool," he hissed and punched at the wall. The fire crept softly upon the hole, greedily eating at the wind it allowed. With an animal's grace he stepped out of stables and into the cool black night. He turned to her, demanding her to follow. 

She grabbed a two bales burning hay and placidly placed them it at the opening. Sparks reached for him, but he stepped back. His handsome face was confused. She blew a kiss at him, an deceptively sweet twinkle in her eyes.

Within seconds, the fire enveloped the entire wall. It singed her lover's hands, his feet. The corpse did not look so gruesome now, with the orange glow cast around him. His arms were spread out, like a welcoming fallen angel. She went to him, and took his head into her lap. She stroked his face, now warm. How odd to touch a _warm_ dead body. Acrid smoke filled her lungs, smarting her eyes. With a tired sigh, she shifted and laid her head onto his chest. Faintly she heard her husband ranting. She looked up at her lover's face, that sweet trusting face.

"I am nothing without you," she whispered, brushing some locks away from his face. Even in death, he appeared an angelic savior. She laid her head on his chest again, closing her eyes. With him, she was everything.

~*~*~*~

She opened her eyes. The memories washed over her in scant seconds, and the present had not changed. Jared leaned against the tree, recovering from her well aimed stone. Amaro stood to the side of him, icy eyes laughing at the werewolf. A harsh wind swirled around them. But Rita could not shiver. Her goose bumps had disappeared; in their place sweat glistened on her tawny skin. She could still hear the crackling fire.

"Yo lo odio," she spat violently, steeling herself against her husband. Although the darkness had not relented, she could see him clearly now. Yes, Rita knew his features all too well. His eyebrows rose in surprise. She marched to him, ignoring the fact he was nearly a foot taller. Rita was prepared to kill him with her bare hands.

"I've heard that one before. You look like you're gonna kill me."  


She inhaled deeply, the freezing air burning her lungs. He had always done this. Because she was a slave to her emotions, he plucked her heartstrings for a few laughs. Rita calmed herself to the point where she would not commit homicide. 

"Just slow and painful torture."

"As opposed to fast and peaceful torture? Good to have the nonsensical Gitana back." God, the man was so full of himself. He sounded as if he had just resurrected Jesus, by having 'nonsensical Gitana back.'

"Adrian Amaro. You unbearable bastard. You evil, conniving, snake. I hate you, I hate your-"

"Charming smile?" Unbelievably, he held out his hands to her, as if he offered sanctuary from all her strife. Rita eyed him uneasily, but did not draw back as he came closer. She refused to have fear of him any more. After all, it was her fear that killed her almost love.

"We both know you can't stay mad at me. You never could."

As a matter of fact, she didn't know. All she remembered was that painful isolated incident, and the rest of her past life remained blurred and jumbled. But his words sounded as if they were true.

"You're thinking of your sniveling coward of a wife," she hissed, looking into his eyes. Eyes that could melt or make icebergs out of any thing. He was so close now she could smell his cologne. "I, on the other hand, will never forget your…inhumanity."

He had the audacity to laugh again. Could he not see she would hate him for the rest of both their lives? And he _laughs_? "Interesting choice of words." There was casualty on his face, but subtle gravity in his voice. She had angered him.

All at once, she saw him through the eyes of herself, her old self. _He is a big man_, she thought worriedly, backing away_. Much too big for me. I cannot defeat him all by myself. What if he should strike me? What then? Adrian always hit so _hard_…_

"Good," he drawled. "You know your tongue's been far too sharp. Come here," he commanded, eyes never leaving her face. Rita could not meet his penetrating gaze. All it took was three steps to reach him, but to Rita they looked like miles.

"Will you hurt me?" Some part of her mind was startled at the comment. Not the undisguised fear in it, not the familiarity of it, but the language. She had timidly asked him in almost archaic Spanish.

"No. I promise. Come here, Gitana."

He did, after all, promise. Tana took a deep shaky breath and put one foot forward. 

The back door broke open with a startling crash. Verity Glisscielle, not Gitana Amaro, stared at the sweaty and happy exodus leaving the basement. Class mates sat on the patio furniture, and others knocked over the barbecue equipment. A few moved to the empty pool, making use of the large ramps with their skate boards. Nobody noticed their president until John Otis drunkenly pointed her out at the edge of the forest. And when they turned to her direction, all they saw was Rita Glisscielle in her delicious red dress, and the naked Jared Luna a few feet away, leaning on a tree. The implications were simply too much. There was no one else in sight.

To be continued.

~*~*~*~

****

it consists principally of dealing with men." 

Joseph Conrad

Unless s/he is a complete ass, any author should be able to take negative comments. Meaning, constructive criticism/ flames welcome, as long as you write it error free (think of that whole thing about the ones who haven't sinned to throw the first stone). I don't care if you don't write a whole sentence. I just feel that this could be better, if I got everybody's opinion and suggestions. Especially other authors. Please?


	2. Almost Like

If desiring the story, you may want to skip the intro, because I have a habit of straying from original topic…

Hello! Very, very, extremely, _very_ special thanks to **Martha**, **Lil'ol'me** (or should I put lil'ol'you?) **Marie**, **Littlemissgiggles, and Maudlinrose**. (Ha! Look at all the M's!) You've all made my day (or, days). About soul mates…can't tell ya. That would make me a kill joy, and nobody wants to be a kill joy. Now I'm not sure if **Marie** meant to put that many reviews, but deliberate or not they made me smile—all of them. Oh, and I'm extremely, extremely flattered that **Littlemissgiggles** and **Maudlinrose** think this is that great, but really, we all know it isn't the _best_. Not with the Kiana Caelum's and Aife Bisclaveret's out there. But I try my damnedest and I'm glad y'all appreciate it. **Maudlinrose** is right, of course, about marginally confusing plot because well it's supposed to be that way. But it really didn't fit into my "please send constructive criticism" request…maybe I'm a glutton for punishment… Doh! See? I told you I digressed.

P.S. Relatively important things are mentioned in this chapter…for the plot later on, I mean. Also (My books are gone, no reference) what's Winnie's last name? Anybody? Anybody?

Vague Verity

Chapter 2

****

"Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for

~*~*~*~

Rik held Fayth's wrist, and led her through the celebrating teenagers. It was one o'clock now, and Scott Buffington had abandoned his post at the door. Already, strangers had arrived, bringing with them even more havoc. It did not matter whether Rik and Fayth stayed or not. They had already negotiated with several neutrals to take their place as pest control of Ian and his friends. So far, no Night World citizens made an appearance at the residence wreaking with illegal activities. 

"There are so many things wrong with this picture," she heard Rik say. She had been so busy studying a boy dangling from a window that she hadn't taken in the same scene her admirer had.

The unavoidable inhalation of drugs from the mansion didn't help much when she stared in the direction Rik indicated. Her vision blurred a bit before refocusing.

"What?" 

"Look," he said, timbre full of incredulity of the situation. They were a few feet away from the street now; Fayth gazed at the hood of his car.

There sat Rita Glisscielle, chocolate curls shining in the street light and long legs crossed. She wore a baggy white shirt over Winnie's dress, the sleeves reaching her elbows. That did not surprise them. It was Jared resting his head in her lap that almost made the vampire rub his eyes.

The werewolf had his usual condition: sleeping. He only wore faded blue jeans, and his feet were bare as they hung loosely over the edge of the Yota. Upon closer inspection, Fayth could see bruises around his neck and chest. Blood stained both their hands, and some maroon spots were visible on Jared's pants. The couple stood in quiet disbelief as they observed the oblivious pair on the car. 

Rita looked up, her hands never quitting the task of stroking Jared's short, brown cow licks. "Hello. Can you drive me home?"

__

Just like that, Fayth thought dazedly. Perhaps it was the possibly spiked punch or the contagious tranquillity of the bookworm and werewolf, but somehow she couldn't quite register the present happenings.

Jared broke free from his slumber but refused to leave the place of comfort. He made the enormous effort to look in his friend's general direction though. "Yeah, Rik. We're both kinda beat."

"Kinda beat? That's all you say? _Kinda beat?_ Jared, get up." When the werewolf didn't budge, Rik dragged him off the car by force. "Now," he said, as Jared leaned on the hood, "explain."

Jared seemed confused and scratched his head dumbly. Something Fayth had seen often, on documentaries of monkeys, that is. He turned to Rita, who only smiled with gentle encouragement.

"Explain what?" He asked when he turned to Rik again.

"Explain what?! Explain why you two are suddenly getting along. Explain why you both have blood on your hands. Explain why you look like a Back Street Boy who just landed in Korn concert. Explain why she's wearing your shirt and why you both were just sitting out here, freezing your asses off. Explain why you left the party when Rashel, Quinn, and Fayth told both of you to stay. Explain—"

Jared held up his hands as if to physically stop the attack of questions. "All right, all right. Just, take a breather dude. You're scaring me."

"I'm scaring you! I find both of you looking like you finished bonding moment of sacrificing chickens in Scott Buffington's back yard and _I'm_ scaring you?"

"Yelling doesn't help anybody," Rita murmured, innocently staring at the velvet sky. Rik thought he saw Jared smile at the comment, but dismissed it as his imagination. Jared always hated at those peace promoting kind of words.

"All right, I'll try to explain in order of your Q's. Let's see…would you believe Rita and I did sacrifice chickens in the back yard? Jesus, calm down it was just a joke. Any way, we're getting along because I saved her life. And she sorta prolonged Amaro from ending mine."

"I'm bound to be nice to anybody who saved my life," Rita added matter-of-factly. Jared grinned.

"Yeah, and anybody who's seen me naked I'm bound to get closer to." Rita gave an indignant hmph, and turned away. "Second, we got blood on our hands because Rita tried to help Adam with his little medical problem while I looked for and found his ear. You remember Adam, blew up the Chem lab last year?" Rik looked impassive. "Okay, may be you don't remember. A few minutes ago, I just got my ass kicked by that Amaro prick. In my opinion, he's a goddamn son of a bitch and God, what I wouldn't give to kick his fu—"

Rita cleared her throat. Jared sighed and continued. "Moving on, a bunch of crazy ass people came outside in this freezing temperature and suddenly the guy disappeared. And I'm guessin' Buffy here," (and Fayth glared at that) "wouldn't approve of us sharing our experience with the curious dumb asses, so we split. She's wearing my shirt because, like you said and I said, it's freezing out here and I don't think I'm very susceptible to hypothermia. And we're sitting here because," at this point he appeared sheepish. "I lost my car keys while I was out hunting with Adam and Cornelia. My bad."

"Why did you leave the party?" Rik asked, annoyed, as he took out his own keys to open the doors. Rita slid off the hood and rushed into the back passenger seat. Jared settled beside her as Rik and Fayth took the seats in the front.

"_You_ told me to leave the party," Rita reminded Rik as she fastened her seat belt. Like a responsible grandmother, she shook her head at Jared and coerced him to buckle his own seat belt. "_You_ said that I upset him and that I should talk to him. This whole mess all _your_ fault."

"And why is that?" Fayth twisted in her seat to scrutinize the girl as Rik began their trek home.

"If I never went out, Adrian would have never bothered me, and Jared and his friends would have never gotten beaten up. But losing the key, I admit, is completely Jared's fault."

"Thanks a lot." Rita smiled at the disgruntled werewolf beside her. As if they shared years of friendship, Rita rested her head on his shoulder, carefully avoiding a large black and violet bruise. Fayth's mouth dropped open when Jared draped an arm over Glisscielle's shoulder, pulling her closer. She had known Jared for nearly half a year and the werewolf always bit her head off if she ever touched his couch. And yet the boy practically hugged a girl he had known for a few days.

"Are you two…I don't know, together?"

"No, we're not together," Rita retorted. "Why were you and Rik holding hands when you found us?" she challenged. "Perhaps some _other_ people are now together," she insinuated. "What do you think, Jared?"

"I dunno, Rita, Rik's been crushing on Fayth for a while now and I didn't think she'd return those feelings…"

"Shut up both of you," Fayth snapped moodily and turned around. Jared made faces at the back of her head, causing Rita to giggle louder.

"Why did you call Amaro Adrian?" Rik asked Rita softly, slicing smoothly through the heavy silence. He heard the girl sigh.

"Because, Quinn and Winnie were right," she grudgingly admitted. "I am presently the reincarnated form of Gitana Amaro. An old soul or whatever you nut cases call it. The man's full name is Adrian."

Rita remembered the timid soul that possessed her. It felt like centuries ago. Secretly, she hoped that if spineless woman lurked somewhere inside her, that part would die very soon.

Jared shrugged. "I guess you could have her soul re edited. It's happened before." He paused and looked down at the girl with a smile. "So Amaro's the one who…used your sweater." Rita lightly punched his bare stomach. Her knuckles ached slightly at the hard contact. It was the first time she did not enjoy wash board abs on a handsome boy.

"You make it sound so vulgar. Let me explain. You see, every girl is a sweater-"

"And every guy is a shirt," he cut in, laughing. His dark brown eyes moved lower than her face. "You're trying mine on. What does _that_ mean?"

"I have a strong suspicion that you were a used shirt long before you met me," she stated in her best prudish voice. But Rita couldn't help grinning at his mischievous expression. "I'm beginning to believe you're a bad influence."  


"You're just now gettin' to that?"

"You're incorrigible."

"And proud of it," Jared retorted, stretching languorously. 

"I bet you don't even know what that means."

" 'I bet?' Isn't gambling a sin in your book, Miss Manners?"

"It's an expression, you know very well what I meant."

"Fine," he surrendered under her stubbornly sanctimonious stare. "I'm incorrigible…I bet tonight's Cristal was the first alcoholic, non medicinal, drink you've ever taken in your life."

"Cristal? Damn, we didn't have any up stairs," Rik said. "Not that I'd drink on the mission," he added, seeing Fayth disapproved. 

"Aw, you just pretend to be a good girl," Jared teased. "Under that nun's habit, you wear kinky underwear, don't you? Now we know who holds Victoria's secret, and it's not Winnie."

"Don't talk about under wear," Rita protested heatedly. "You're not supposed to discuss under garments with the opposite sex!" Her cheeks colored. Rita felt absolutely scandalized.

"No, you just try to catch glimpses of mine. She's been peekin' down my pants , hasn't she, Rik?"

"Whatever you say," Rik complied with an easy grin. Fayth smiled, especially when she saw Rita slap a large nasty bruise in the center of Jared's chest. Jared growled and covered the vulnerable area with crossed arms.

"You're horrible. I loathe you."

"It's just laundry!" Jared cried, attempting a mask of innocence. Rita did not believe him for one instant.

"Dirty laundry," she corrected heatedly. Jared wiggled his eye brows at her.

"Yeah, I know you like it dirty, Rita…" Jared said in a husky tone, barely containing his laughter. Rita kicked his shin.

"That is enough!" She declared, sounding like a kindergarten teacher in the midst of childish havoc. "If you say so much as a peep that suggests…procreation, you are walking home. Do you understand me?"  


"This is my Yota! You just can't stop the car and kick a man out of his Yota!"

"Especially if you're not driving it," Rik added, helping his friend.

"Who said anything about stopping the car? I'm not totally repulsed by the idea of you being pushed out," Rita said coolly. But Jared refused to accept her regained composure and continued giving her an alarming variety of innuendoes until they reached the boarding house.

"A whole soap factory could not clean the filth out of your mouth," Rita sighed as they trudged up the stair well.

"Oh shut up Rita," Jared returned lazily as they entered the home and he laid on the couch. "You know I turn you on."

"You act just like Kyros," she changed the subject quickly, hoping to cool the warmth on her cheeks. She chose to sit in a recliner farthest away from him. "Always saying things just to bother me."

"Maybe," he admitted. "But I'm sexier."

"In the 'failed-twelfth-grade-three-times- intimate-with-the-leather-couch-I-know-six-ways-to-wear-underwear-before-washing-it' kind of sexy," Fayth laughed, and forced Rita to share the recliner with her. She guessed the girl didn't want to share a seat with Rik, who just occupied the other recliner.

"Goodness, I'm tired," Rita stretched, eye lids drooping. "I don't think I've ever been so tired in my entire life."

"Come here then," she heard her former adversary offer. Even with closed eyes, Rita knew he was grinning like a bobcat. "And I'll wake you up, caffeine free."

"I'm not sure whether I prefer the menopausal Jared or the horny as heck Jared. Both are extremely unappealing."

"Claimed the kinky nun," Rik muttered. Jared burst in childish, immature laughter; Rik joined him. The girls rolled their eyes and ignored them.

"Where will I sleep tonight?" Rita asked Fayth, blocking the eclats de rire from her ears. 

"Let's see. Quinn and Rashel are in the guest room. Winnie stays with me. Rik and Jared share a room and Kyros is in the living room…"

"No," Jared cut her off. "I refuse to have my passionate prude in the same room as that shifter. One of them might get raped. And I've heard violated foxes are cranky."

Rita yawned, and rose from the recliner. "Seriously, Fayth, I just need some place to sleep. As in right now."

"We all need to sleep," Rik added, calming down a bit as he rose from his seat. "You could sleep here Rita, it folds down to make a bed, just really skinny."

"I'm sure Anorexia Amaro could fit," Jared commented with a calculating look at both Rita and her bed. "Well, maybe not her ass." She glared at him while Rik and Fayth tidied up before leaving the room.

"I eat fine, thank you," she returned, and plopped into the recently vacated seat, reminding Jared of himself. "And you're just saying that so I'd stay out of your couch."

"That's right, it's _my_ couch. Stay off of it."

"And what if I don't?" She challenged. Without warning, darkness fell over them and she could hear Fayth's voice.

"Enough, it's bed time. Sweet dreams."

~*~*~*~

Jared left shortly after her breathing appeared light and even and under her eyelids, her eyes seemed to move as if in a dream. When she heard the door click shut, she glided silently to the window. The clouds finally revealed the near full moon. Rita stared at the hanging glowing pearl, as if the distant rock could lull her to sleep.

Perhaps it was the golden stranger's sudden appearance. Or Quinn's tiny fracture in the wall. Then again her nearly compulsive need to analyze everything could have done it. But, no matter what reason, the memories flooded her mind at a drowning intensity. And there was no way to stop it, asleep or awake. Inside the building was no place to ease the recollections.

She stood on the landing, ready to tread down the steps and walk aimlessly. Then she remembered the golden haired stranger, who seemed ready ridicule or torture her in the same hour. With that in mind, it seemed safer to continue up the winding stair well, but not before she took Jared's coat from the closet.

The frigid air immediately gripped her body as Rita stepped onto the flat roof top. Stopping for a moment, Rita inhaled the frozen air deeply, savoring the slight shock of the cold. She set a wooden door stopper to ensure she would not spend the night on the elevated tundra. A lonely clothes line told her the place was not totally abandoned by its tenants. But only a lunatic would visit the roof, where Jack Frost had already visited. Patches of ice made her walk to the edge somewhat difficult, but the view was worth it. Certainly, it was no big city sky line. But with the colorful Christmas lights and garland wrapped around every city pole, Rita was satisfied with Anomina's quaint and provincial night life. 

"I've always liked small towns." Nobody would hear her, for she said it in the tiniest of voices. She had learned, early on, that if one must speak negatively or unnecessarily, it was better to do it quietly. Gitana Amaro had been the same. Rita closed her eyes in an attempt to block the other woman's life. She only succeeded in amplifying them.

~*~*~*~

Prior Past 

Gitana Benevita didn't care what the dance represented or symbolized. The only thought in her head was to keep the steps lightning quick and loud, so loud the staccato bits of thunder would echo throughout the massive hall. The guitarra strummed lazily to the rhythm she energetically provided, but nobody paid it any attention. As she raised her hands with the beat over her head, she felt a black tendril of hair wisp her warm face. Inwardly, she winced at her now shabby appearance. But Gitana could not assess her audience's reaction. 

Her feet seemed to tap lightly on the hard wooden floors, the sound that they caused said other wise. It was an art, more magnificent than any painter could produce. She ensured her body kept its fluid agility while under her long white dress her iron soled shoes bit vociferously at the floor. Her kind of entertainment would have been accepted with propriety had not her visible ankles held her back. But there was simply no way, well, no comfortable way to dance while tripping over her own garments. 

Dancing was the only way to indulge without committing a sin. At least, that was how Gitana thought of it. Just looking at someone the wrong way almost earned her the burning stake. People were so sensitive these days.

Gitana knew that if one truly loved dance with heart and soul, it was not simply a mixture of foot steps and planned arm movements. It was visual music. It was how the deaf could hear the melody, and feel the beat. Footsteps were not planned positions; each step held all her life and energy. And fortunately for her health, people actually _paid_ to see her enjoy herself. Silly donkeys.

The torpid strums suddenly turned insistent, and Tana effortlessly hastened the rhythm. She shouldn't have trusted that volunteer of a guitar player, even if he looked dangerously handsome. But he was a friend of the host, and could not be refused. Fine. She could improvise.

Faster her feet flew. Music heightened with suspenseful notes, and Gitana swayed as if any more steps would kill her. Her hands clapped above her head, emphasizing her steps' booms. With feet that thundered triumphantly and languid movements that whispered sadly, Gitana stopped. As always, the guitarra finished a few seconds after she had stilled. Gitana had won the race.

She bowed low before the congested banquet and was then dismissed. Meekly, she made her way to the kitchen, where a free meal and warm fire awaited her. 

Knowing some of the servants and cooks did not have the taste for her sort of dancing, she kept her eyes on her bread and sardines. Vaguely, she wondered how a town surrounded by the dry and sandy Meseta could obtain the fish. The Guadalquivir River surely didn't run so far north. But, one must not wonder where the food came from; all that mattered was when it would come again. 

The general work of the kitchen was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Or, more fittingly, heard. Nothing was said save the necessary orders. Gitana Benevita had eaten hundreds of dinners in hundreds of castles, manors, and wealthy homes. All of which had kitchen servants overflowing with gossip, verbal abuse, and irritating chatter. Now, in the uncomfortable silence, she realized that she preferred deafening clamor of the help to the tense quietness she sat in now. Gitana guessed it was just another quirk of Morta Vitez.

Having eaten the last morsel, Gitana rose from the table and left the kitchen via butcher's door. No permission to leave was needed. Strangely enough, the ancient village, as small as it looked, had more than its share of aristocrats. And these were not the earnest, austere noble men she had performed before with no hope of a smile. In fact, the wealthy of Morta Vitez had the mien of recklessness and, as much as she hated to think so, indulgence that would make el Diablo blush. The eyes that followed her every movement when she walked to the center of the dance floor seemed…hungry. She certainly wasn't about to inform the host, whoever he was, that the entertainment was running away. 

It was a chilly night. Gitana wrapped her arms around herself instinctively. The moon beams illuminated the village just as the sun rays did during the day light. No drunkards, beggars, or prostitutes loitered about the narrow walk ways. Gitana observed that even with blinding moon light, darkness shrouded everything. She remembered that during the sun's shift, she had to shield her eyes from the bright orange sand and white buildings. Strange how a few hours dramatically changed the village.

It took her twenty minutes to realize she had completed a full square. Back where she started, in front of the small castle. Sighing, she walked along the shining gate, concentrating on where the nearest merchant would live. Not one was at the dinner banquet. A pity. It would have made a merchant much more willing to take her on his next journey if he'd seen her performance. Never in her life had Gitana ever led a man to believe private…performances for a mode of transportation. But if they misconstrued her demure eyes and shy smile in a perverse manner, that was their fault. 

She turned at the corner and continued her ambling. The nobleman must be extremely wealthy, to tend a garden outside his property. The townspeople could literally have one foot in the desert and another in the jungle. Gitana leaned against the towering gates, pondering where, and how soon she could find that lucky trader. Staying in a town had no positive results; eventually people would find her performances hackneyed. And that meant no payment and no free meals. A marble statue stared at her and she stared back. Looking as if each felt the other didn't belong on the property.

"You shouldn't have worn white."

Gitana started and whirled to the comment. It came somewhere from the wild garden. The speaker was male, and, as most males were, arrogant. Accented, yet…without particular shape. As if this stranger was a man with no nation, his own sovereignty. 

"And why not?" she asked with child like curiosity. Gitana stepped closer towards the second Eden, trying to discern the stranger's location. 

"What are you looking for?" The whisper sent pleasant tingles from the ear to her tickled toes. Unable to speak coherently, Gitana yelped and jumped back from the nobleman. His eyes laughed, their twinkle confirming Gitana's assumption of arrogance.

"I thought you were in there," she answered simply. "How did you do that with your voice?"

He studied her silently. Not like most men, with their unabashed attraction. No, this man looked at her like a business man studied a potential new purchase. His expression questioned her worth.

Then he reacted to her innocent question. With a slow, quizzical smile.

"I did nothing. White was not the color for that dance. Red, would be most fitting."

It was true; a gypsy's seduction, her mother oft called the little number. But for this aloof young man to notice, let alone one of the gentry...She dismissed his strange behavior for the usual behavior of nobleman. She always knew money and power had bizarre effects on people. Which explained why she was so normal.

"I like white. Red is too…daring."

"But the dance was not pure enough for white. I suspect you are though." Gitana took even more steps back. It was forbidden, in her rules of etiquette, to discuss one's virtue, unless with the clergy. Only the difference in their classes stopped her insulting words.

"Good night sir," she said shortly and bowed, as low as it was insolent. The smile on her lips conveyed every sort of contemptuous thought she had for him. Then she turned on her heel and marched away. She wished it was the man she ground her foot into, and not fallen leaves.

"I did not dismiss you, girl."

Now that was a tone she knew was his right. The snobby, cold, and spiteful tone universally used with any lower class. By having more money, and by being born to a certain family, this man had every right to talk down to her. But that didn't mean she liked it.

"Forgive me sir." Her voice suggested everything but repentance. 

"No." Just like that. He gave the refusal without hesitation. "I don't believe I will."

"Then you should know that I didn't mean it." _Oh dear_, she silently lamented. _Now I've done it. If I survive the punishment he gives me, I fully intend to sew my mouth shut. A novel idea. The Silent Dancing Gypsy._

"That's what _you're_ supposed to do. When I'm offended, I'm supposed to do this."

Gitana felt a hand wrap around her neck and her feet scraped the ground as the man threw her against the fence. Gitana thought she saw stars as her the hard metal pounded the back of her head. She tried to scratch at his hands, but it had the same effect as scratching a rock. 

And the man smiled.

~*~*~*~

"I thought you would be sleeping by now." Rita was not alarmed by Kyros' voice. She had seen the three Daybreakers enter the house.

"Couldn't sleep," she shrugged. "How was the party? Any anomalies?" The boy took a seat beside her. Rita was thankful he did not scold her for sitting quietly on the edge of a five story house as if it was a park bench. 

"Not one fu…freaking accident in the entire drunken student body. Amazing." Rita smiled but did not look towards him. Her eyes, now a light green, stayed on the moon as if hypnotized.

"Never underestimate Anomina's high school students, Kyros, especially this class. They once completely halted a school assembly by singing 'Why can't we be friends?'" In her peripheral vision, she saw Kyros turn to her with a question in his eyes.

"A martial arts instructor came to speak of self control and standing up for yourself," she explained with a smile. "What is Adrian Amaro?"

Her sudden question surprised him. "Adrian? Hmm, I never knew Ian was short for any thing. I don't really know the guy, Rita. But, according to Rik, he's a shifter."

"But…I know I'm not completely familiar with this Night World and such-"

"Amaro is only partially with the Night World. The money part. Other wise, he's a part of the Do whatever the hell I want Circle. Very exclusive. I tried to get in, but, unfortunately, I had this damn conscience that kept on nagging me every time I try to be a heartless bastard…."

"All of which is very interesting, but not what I was going to ask. I was going to mention that it seemed like he could sense me. And you said that shifters couldn't read minds."  


Kyros shrugged. "Why are you doing that?"

"Lots of people get nervous sitting at the edge of a roof," she answered truthfully. It wasn't the reason why she fidgeted, but it was not a lie. Rita thought of dozens of people who would hate chatting on a rooftop.

"Yeah, but it was your idea to sit here any way. Listen, I'm gonna head inside. You comin'?" Rita shook her head.

"I told you, I can't sleep. I think I'm just worried bout my sister. We've never been separated for so long before."

Kyros smiled, thinking that a day or two was not that long. But it was an admirable devotion. "All right. Now, give me a good night kiss or I'll push you off."

Rita laughed as Kyros leaned towards her, with childish expectancy. He even puckered his lips and closed his eyes. He then frowned when he felt a butterfly kiss on his forehead.

"There, there, don't frown. Do you want me to tuck you in too?" Kyros' eyebrows rose in hope, and she giggled. Right, like _that_ was going to happen. "Well, too bad. All you get is that unsatisfactory kiss." The fox shifter rose and Rita heard him moving to the door. He must be tired, she thought distractedly, to allow his footsteps to be heard.

"Rita?" She guessed he was at the door by now.

She didn't know that he drew closer, eyes narrowing. In the slithering rays of silver and darkness, he studied her hard. A smile illuminated his face when he recognized it. Her profile, if squinted at correctly, looked almost like Nissa's.

"Yes?" Her eyes remained on the moon, spell bound. When nobody answered, she turned towards his voice, hands still tingling. 

That ticklish feeling spread like wild fire through out her body when Kyros planted a firm, demanding kiss on her lips. It took a moment for Rita to realize what he was doing, and what she should be doing. But, in her shock, all she could manage was a gentle touch on his cheek. Slyly, he teased her mouth to open, his own tasting like tobacco and winter.

Kyros pulled away, his smile's radiance rivaling the moon. She was the only one breathless.

"You looked like you needed to be kissed." And with that, he sprinted away and disappeared into the stair well. Rita looked at her feet, terribly shaken by one simple kiss. Her first kiss…_and for such a stupid, unbelievably unromantic reason!_ A simple kiss.

That might be how Kyros viewed it, simple, but Rita knew how dangerous one kiss could be from past experience. From a past life. The moon no longer held her enthralled; she could not face it, for she had the distinct feeling it would be grinning at her.

~*~*~*~

Washington

The celebration was once again held with only a small group of friends. The guest list was impressive: three wild powers, the sole Battle survivor from the Night World's side, and the youngest survivor of the Daybreak's side. Delos' relatives outnumbered Maggie's, who only had Miles present. With their soul mates, Delos had invited James Rasmussen, Ash Redfern, and Jez Redfern. Their adoptive relation was on a mission. Most of the couples had already arrived at the sunny expansive apartment in Washington. 

Maggie found Maria, who smiled cheerfully, waiting on her door mat. The petite girl heard laughter and debating in the impressive apartment before her.

"Where's Valdis?" Maggie asked, peering over her shoulder. Maria gave a suspiciously sweet smile and sailed past her.

"The bastard of whom you speak had trouble on the stairs," she replied airily and settled next to Philip North on the couch. Maggie narrowed her steely gaze when Maria's hand flirtatiously pushed his shoulder, casually smiling at his comment. Delos, who was in conversation with Ash Redfern in the dining room, gave his soul mate a warning look. Both he and Morgead had ambitions for Philip and Claire. Apparently, it was Maggie's duty to nip Maria's plans in the bud.

She marched over to the couple and sat in the snug space between them, pushing Philip aside with a strong hand. "Trouble on the stairs?" she asked Maria, ignoring Philip's irritated stare. "But, we have an elevator."

Maria gave a beautiful smile. "Valdis did not make it to the elevator."

Tybal and Eldson constantly belittled the other's attempts of hostility. There was some sort of pleasurable bickering between the two, one that nobody besides Ash and Mary Lynnette could fully understand. 

Maggie insightfully noticed the tinge of discomfort in her friend's expression and directly asked, "What happened this time?"

"I walked in my," Maggie gave her a sharp look. "Our apartment," she corrected with a sigh, "yesterday and he was talking on the phone and when he saw me he took the phone into the bathroom."

"So?" Mary Lynnette asked and handed them two cups of eggnog. Maria appreciated the sweet alcohol. "He might have just been going to the bath room."

Maria gave her new friend a withering look. Because their soul mates were some what friendly, the girls found themselves in each other's company in New York and in Arizona. The chocolate haired woman believed Valdis and Ash shared many characteristics; sporadic male insensitivity, natural loftiness, instant malevolence towards competition, and none too noble tricks, in love or war. But where Ash Redfern preferred to lie in bed until hell froze over (of course, with a blanket and soul mate by his side), Valdis believed idolatry as a plague to the modern world. His military attitude did not usually compromise with Maria's own independent, recently impetuous attitude. Despite their months old acquaintance, Maria suspected that Mary Lynnette knew little of Valdis' character to judge.

Besides; Ash disliked Maria, Maria despised Ash, and Mary Lynnette felt unease with Valdis, while Valdis was oblivious to all negative attitudes.

"Or he wanted to let Ash hear the sound of our toilet," she suggested savagely and shifted in her seat. Maria did not like the way these girls cornered her into admitting these unpleasant events.

"But Ash was on the plane yesterday," Mary Lynnette pointed out, feeling as suspicious as Maria had been. Her detective streak sparked immediately. Who had Valdis been talking to? And why did he have to hide it from his soul mate?

"That's what I said. And then he said that I shouldn't get excited. For god's sake, do I look like a child susceptible to conniptions?" Both Maggie and Mary Lynnette bit their tongues. Ash often referred to her as the weak Chihuahua who believed she was a Doberman.

"What'd you do?" Maggie prompted when Miles walked past them and Maria smiled invitingly at him. Honestly, was nobody safe from Maria's vengeful romantic attempts? Even at a Christmas party, Maggie lamented inwardly, the girl refused to sheath her manicured claws.

"Hmm? Oh, I did what every woman would do. I accused, he yelled, I yelled back and then I threw a book and went to the air port without him."

"Very mature," Mary Lynnette commented with a laugh. Before Maria could respond, Ash opened the door to reveal a tall vampire, with hair of blood red and sea colored eyes. Valdis distractedly handed Maggie and Delos' Christmas presents and brushed past him, purposely oblivious to Maria's hard stare. She thought he would storm in and yell at her; instead he circulated about the room, with that damn cell phone glued to his ear.

"Exactly how did he get that scar on his temple?"

"Maria threw a pencil at him a couple of months ago," Maggie answered for her silent friend. For Maria, that particular example of instant anger still stung. Deciding that their further questions would only lessen her well placed fury towards Valdis, Maria became selectively deaf.

Without a word, she stood up and accosted her soul mate as he paced by the window. Upon seeing her presence, Valdis halted all conversation and waited patiently for whatever she had to complain of now.

But Maria Tybal did not open her mouth. Instead she silently grabbed the cell phone and threw it out the window. Ignoring his exclamations, she smiled and walked to where Keller Drache and Miles Neely sat, her back facing the rest of the room. Somewhere behind her, Maria heard Ash disgracefully snort with laughter at Valdis' expression.

Apollo Drache was little over two now, and 'terrible' did not cover it. He bit his mother's arm and spilled fruit punch on Miles' sweater. All the while babbling excitedly about something of great importance, without having a single soul in the room understanding.

It was like observing a strange new creature. A slobbery, inanely loud new species with dumb founding energy. The toddler made Maria thank heavens she wouldn't get knocked up with Valdis. While they conversed, the child momentarily disappeared from sight.

Later, Keller heard an irritated snarl and turned to Maria, who had her hands above her head as if in surrender. "Keller, get it off of me." 'It' was a small and amazingly convivial jaguar kitten clutching precariously to her cashmere red sweater. 

"I thought you worked with kids at the day care," Keller pointed out as she struggled to pull out her son's embedded claws from Maria's top. "You'd think you were used to this."

"I make it a point to avoid the non potty trained, thank you very much. Can you please hurry up?" The 'please' sounded forced. "My arms are starting to ache."

"Well then use them to help me. He doesn't have a disease you know." 

"Of course he does," was all she replied, knowing very well the comment wouldn't sit very well with the protective mother. Keller's eyes flashed. Maria never knew whether she would have survived Keller's reaction, for Maggie announced supper. At the same time, Valdis passed them and deftly took the eggnog from her raised hands and threw it in the trash can. 

Much to the others' amusement, by the time they entered the dining room the only empty places left were adjacent and between Morgead and Poppy. Although Maria appeared stormy, Valdis matched Poppy's enthusiasm as they chatted. Conversation fluttered around the oblong table. Maria soon forgot the curse sitting beside her and cheerily joined the talk.

Morgead was discussing the continuous rise of the Old Powers; which, Maria privately reflected, was such cheesy phrasing. 

"It just makes things so _weird_," he said. "Like you know, you got your mind set to rules about my species and this species and that species. But with the Old Powers," he shook his head with a smile, "you never know. For example, I've heard of a witch couple in Vermont who had twins, boy and a girl."

"Hand me the wine. What's so strange about that?"

Morgead poured the drink for her and then leaned closer. "The girl doesn't have any powers," he informed her in a dramatically cryptic tone.

"The boy stole them," Maria declared as she set down the glass. "That's just like a male, to be so inconsiderate." Her voice was deliberately loud, her pretty eyes sliding a furtive look towards her boyfriend. 

Morgead frowned at her studied viciousness and shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. The boy's power is pretty normal. But if that was true, and I was the girl, I'd beat his ass so hard the power would bleed out of him."

Maria laughed at the thought of Morgead's attitude in a girl's body. Then again, all one had to do is look at his soul mate. When she reached for her drink, her hand grasped nothing and she spied the glass sitting near Valdis' plate. Before she could vocally tear him to shreds, a small furry and ticklish form of trouble appeared on her lap.

"Good Lord, Keller can't you control your child for one second?" Maria asked irritably, and once again lifted her hands in the surrender position. Lord only knew what kind of bugs hid in that fur. Adorable blue eyes gazed blankly at her.

"What are talking about?" Galen returned in a puzzled voice. "Apollo's right…oh, never mind," he muttered upon seeing the high chair empty and the buckles ripped. 

Valdis addressed his soul mate for the first time. "What's the matter, Maria? Afraid of the little baby?" Maria desperately wished for a wooden stake for his acidic tone.

"Of course not," she snapped, brown eyes flaming. "If I could bear living with a dumb ass like you, I can certainly handle an infant."

Galen chided her choice of words in front of his son. Maggie spoke with urgent pleasantness about the weather, but failed to curb the conflict. Delos simply smiled, eager for entertainment. Jez rolled her eyes, and wondered if Goddess herself could keep the two in peace for more than a week. Poppy giggled, James smirked, and Keller glared. The picture of a merry Christmas dinner.

"Pass the mashed taters," Poppy asked lightly, knowing very well now was not the time to bother the couple. Maria frowned and picked up the hefty bowl when Valdis produced a reply.

"Are you so certain about that?" Maria's arms stopped just inches away from Poppy's hands.

"Why? Do you think I'm incompetent as you are?" Maria demanded, unconsciously drawing the bowl farther from the eager vampire.

"Nope," he answered blithely. "I was just wondering how you would manage when our own baby comes."

The mashed potatoes landed on the table with a splatter. Poppy clapped her hands and congratulated them on adopting, while Delos wondered aloud who would find Tybal and Eldson fit for parent hood. Maggie frowned over the spilled mashed potatoes. Only Maria comprehended what her boy friend meant.

"Valdis dear," she said with thinly veiled impatience, "when did you conceive?" The question caused Jez, who had no opinion on the matter, to choke on her chicken with laughter. Morgead thoughtfully thumped her heartily on the back, admiring the shade of beet red his soul mate suddenly possessed.

"You know very well I can't hold the baby," Valdis said cheerfully and handed Jez a glass of water. "Do you know who I was talking to before you rudely threw the phone out the window? Your doctor."

"Oh I see," Mary Lynnette broke in. Ash looked at her curiously. "You found out yesterday when you told her not to get excited. And that's why you took her eggnog and wine. Duh Maria."

Maria looked at Mary Lynnette as if she had committed treason against her gender. "I'm not pregnant," she repeated. "I'd think I'd know if I was pregnant. Besides," she said with a delicate sniff, "I haven't the constitution to give birth."

"Oh what a load of bull," Lupe drawled, who was the only one still eating. "You've got the constitution to give birth to an elephant." Somewhere in that strange comment, Maria was sure a compliment lurked. Then she made a face; it was very disturbing imagery. 

"That won't be necessary," Valdis replied, proud as a peacock, and patted Maria's hand. "Thankfully, we're going to have a normal, half breed, little girl."

"Nobody said it is going to be a girl," Maria said heatedly and snatched her hand away. "I mean…Christ, I'm not pregnant!" Still on her sweater, Apollo mewed, the tiny sound a contradiction. "Will somebody get the damn brat off of my breasts?!"

Miles gave an impish smile and commented innocently, "Cats _do_ like milk, you know." His words earned him a painful pinch from Maggie. He pinched back. Delos tried to intervene, but Maggie pinched _his_ hand away. 

"We haven't even…" Maria trailed off as Valdis idly scratched at his scar. "Oh dear," she said quietly, poking at the food on her plate, "I do believe I'm pregnant." Valdis smiled victoriously, and informed her she was three and three fourths months along. Then, with the appearance of ensuring the deadness of her meal, Maria began to viciously stab her chicken. Valdis guessed that the asparagus were wiggling too, for they met the same, punctured fate as the bird.

Maggie watched curiously and finally pulled it away. Nobody wants pinpricked china in their cupboards. Besides, that metal on porcelain sound was freaking the hell outta Apollo.

"See!" Morgead declared, sounding as if he won an argument. "See, what did I tell you about the Old Powers, forces, whatever they're called? Think about it. Not only is it physically impossible for these two make babies, but also chemically cuz of those pills. They leave you infertile for up to five years even after you stop taking them. You have one out of a million chance of getting pregnant from one night."  


Jez raised an eyebrow at his new knowledge. "Claire and her human development classes," he shrugged.

"Oh hell," Maria said to herself, though everybody heard, "and damnation. I'm pregnant. Me. Pregnant. Hell and damnation."  


"Denial ain't just a river in Egypt," Philip smiled the same time Maggie commented happily, "And to all think it started with guilt sex from a thrown pencil."

"Not guilt entirely," Maria corrected. Valdis frowned, and Maria shrugged. "Oh, come on, it's not like I'm going to tell the baby how he came to be."

"Oh yeah," James said caustically, "that's why I want to adopt. To explain to the kid the factors of conception."

Poppy's already glowing face brightened considerably at the topic. "We're approved you know. We've just got to visit next week and then we'll be parents." Her friends gave sincere congratulations.

Maria's elegant features were still tense. The boy, who was supposed to be a loving, caring soul mate, rudely dropped the biggest news of her life without the decency to inform in private. Then, with the biggest ego in the universe, he acted as if he had done all the work. Damn bastard. 

With a little jump, she realized Delos was addressing her. Most likely after some pressure from Maggie to be polite to all guests. "What do you hope it will be, Maria?"  


"Be?" she repeated dumbly. She hadn't even considered raising anything but a dog, and now all of a sudden she had to think about a baby and its sex. "A…a boy, I suppose," she answered quietly, toying with her food. Delos dismissed her uncharacteristically subdued tone to happiness. Male logic, go figure.

"For once, I don't want to argue with you," Delos replied with some surprise. He had expected her to desire a girl, and then raise a feminist rally to support her choice. "Why?"

She shrugged her delicate shoulders. "I…I guess for a junior. I sorta like having a senior and junior in a family." And, as usual, Valdis disagreed, and announced he wanted a girl. If it wasn't for the present company and the lovely cream table cloth, Maria would have stabbed him then and there. "It's my womb isn't it? I'll have what I please."

"Well it was my sp—well I helped make her, so it's going to be a girl." Maria's nostrils flared ever so slightly, her eyes glowing to a lighter color. The signs of Tybal ready to erupt and promptly give a verbal lashing that would draw blood. Abruptly, she jerkily rose from the table, upsetting her glass in the process, and distractedly excused herself to powder her nose.   


Then Keller cursed as she noticed her son's presence was once again gone from the table. Great confusion ensued as the party looked for the tot when Lupe spotted a cub skillfully climbing the Christmas tree in the living room. Some of the guests left to coax little Apollo out of the branches, for Maggie, always enthusiastic over Christmas, had purchased a ten footer.

"How do you plan to return to your hotel tonight?" Valdis heard Lupe ask him as he wondered what took Maria so long in the bath room.

"We drove here," he called back. The werewolf appeared in the dining room with a sly smile.

"And now she's driving away." Too late did Valdis recall he did not have the keys.

Maggie was very confused when a blur resembling Valdis, sped past her and thanked her for the enjoyable get together. 

~*~*~*~

Hours later, Rita sat next to Quinn as they sped past Anomina's elm trees. That was hardly something to think about. Rita did not care whether the vampire drove five or fifty miles over the speed limit. Her hands tingled because Kyros, Winnie, and Rik were arguing in the back seat. Not so much arguing, but teasing Winnie of her time it took to get ready. 

A heavy depression had settled onto Rita's features, and during her silence of the car ride she tried to ignore it. But the thought of facing her worrisome mother and invalid sister… The mere vision of them caused her to sink lower in her seat.

They were going to see her house. They were going to see the one story hovel and they were, most likely, going to meet her brain damaged sister. With one look at the pathetic abode and then the hopeless family, Rita was sure they'd turn to her with pity in their eyes. And Rita hated pity. She'd rather belly dance on hot coals than hear the words "I'm sorry about your sister." Glisscielle pride hadn't even let her accept condolence cards. She was prepared to forcibly kick them out of her home if she heard a single sympathetic syllable.

And she hated Quinn. He knew about her situation, and yet he forced the witch to come. Rik and Kyros volunteered out of boredom and, despite Rita's urgent looks, Quinn consented. She wished the vampire never even found out. They were leaving under the pretense of driving Rita home, but she saw no reason to bring the witch along. Although the animosity had decreased considerably in the last few hours, the witch's commiseration would be horrible.

All too soon, they pulled past the tall hedges and into her drive way. There. The gray house sat before them like a road kill. Unpleasant but unfortunately very visible. Rita left the car without a good bye, the duffel bag in hand. By the time the others made it to the door, she had already slammed it shut.

"I'm home, Mother," she called out tiredly and tossed the duffel bag into her room. Her voice bounced off the empty white walls. "Mother," she said again, louder. She checked her mother's room. No sister and no nurse. With a worried frown, she walked briskly to the kitchen. Guilt coursed through her shaken body. And to think she had been lamenting over their very existence just moments earlier…

Dog stretched lazily from his position atop the microwave. He stared at her indifferently before returning to his nap. 

"Where are they?" she asked him. Rita opened the garage door, and saw there was no Altima. But it was a Monday. Her mother had most likely gone to work early, but that didn't explain her sister and the nurse's disappearance. Rita went to the living room, where two vampires sat on her sofa.

"I can't find my family any where," she told Quinn worriedly.

"I know," he replied calmly. "They're in Boston."

"Boston?" She repeated dumbly. "What's in Boston?"

He didn't answer; instead he motioned something to Rik. Her classmate handed her a piece of note book paper and an envelope full of money. She read her mother's loopy words, but the baffled look stayed on her face.

"But she hates her brother in law. Technically he's my father's brother in law's brother in law. He didn't like my father, or my mother, or me. Why on earth would she go visit him for Christmas? And without me," she added, a bit peeved her mother decided to take her sister, but not her coherent daughter.

"It would be safer for them," Quinn explained easily, fiddling with a figurine from the display case. Rita frowned, even _she_ wasn't allowed to open that glass case. "If Amaro does seek revenge on you, it would be best of family was out of the way."

"And how long are they going to stay there?"

"Indefinitely."

"What about my mother's job?" she asked, exasperated.

"Taken care of," Quinn replied, obviously finding the conversation dull. Rita suspected everything was "taken care of" and without her consent. "You'd want them to be in Boston than dead, right?" He asked when she saw she didn't approve.

"Of course," she snapped. "But Kyros told me that the nurse was going to work…"

"She is," Kyros corroborated as he came in from the hall way. He had a large hard cover book in hand. "She just went with them."

"But you made it sound like they were all still here," she stated angrily. Kyros only gave an infuriating grin.

"Rita, we just didn't want ya to get all mad before the party. Coulda refused to go." Despite his friendly tone, Kyros sounded very cold and uncaring. Rita studied him, not understanding how the man she kissed earlier this morning could be so callous. This was her family, her flesh and blood, that they herded around like cattle, and they expected her to understand. 

He sat next to Rik on the couch and opened the book. Her year book from junior high. "Who's this Jason?" he asked, pointing to the year book signing. "He called you sweet heart."

Just like that. The matter had been dismissed, and just because these boys felt like it. Who cared if Rita was still concerned about her family? The Glisscielle's were out of the way, and that was that. Rita thought her anger was going to burn her own bones. Summoning, all her strength and will power, she managed to say, "Get out," without exploding. Then she marched to her sanctuary, slamming the door behind her.

Thankfully, they complied. But only after she heard the front door slam and Winnie say, "I set up the wards. Where's Rita?" Only subdued male murmurs followed. Then, with tangled up emotions, she watched from her window as the Mustang pulled away. She could almost hear them now.

"So that's Rita's house," Rik would say. "Not as scary as I'd thought. Just really, really small."

"It's so sad," Winnie would then comment airily. "That awful décor and then the family. No wonder she never smiles." Quinn and Kyros would, of course, say nothing because they had been to her home before.

Rita sighed as she sat in her over sized pink chair. The fire place was cold and dark. The books were dead, and no longer spoke to her as they did before. She was spoiled by the interaction of living company. Rita shook off these depressing thoughts and turned on her radio. Music always cheered her up.

"Well, Verity, you got what you asked for. A night without your invalid sister, your tired and nagging mother, and that awful nurse. And for being so good, you get to have Christmas Day to yourself," she told herself miserably. "Thanks, God," she added spitefully, looking heavenward. She imagined him to be laughing right about now. Trying to ignore the irritating, imaginary Holy chuckles, she moved to her bed room and slept for the rest of the day and then the night. Partying was more exhausting than she thought.

She didn't know why she had hoped. All Christmas Day she would glance out the window. Hoping to catch a glimpse of somebody, anybody, who thought of her on the holiday. But she was only rewarded by an appearance of a cardinal. And even he appeared to be having more fun than the girl and her cat. The new outfit her mother gave her did not fill the empty feeling inside. The cat left hours later, making her day even more depressing. 

"If this is Christmas, I can't wait till New Year's," she muttered as she watched the Claymation specials on the telly. Jack Frost was admiring a human girl from afar. Hopefully, there would be no appearances from anybody outside her species from now to the next holiday. Because…she didn't know why. Maybe because she didn't know many of them, and all the non humans so far had been very questionable. 

But, of course, school would recommence soon. Books, clubs, and planning for the major soiree. She just wished Adrian Amaro wasn't in any of her classes.

"Curses," she muttered aloud on the couch. "I just jinxed myself." 

She had no idea how very close the man in question was.

To be continued. 

~*~*~*~

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the curious attractiveness of others." 

Oscar Wilde

Well? Improvement? Or the antonym of improvement? Please review, and I will adore you forever. For those of you who might be confused to the traveling to Washington to Maria's predicament, it _does_ all tie together. Just sit back and experience the joys of parallel story lining. If you haven't read my other story (and don't! For god's sake don't you dare!) you might as well know I've messed with the lives of L.J. Smith's original characters, and now I just like to give them happy endings. OH and it might be a while before I update, because school starts tomorrow. Cringing at the thought of AP Lit…I'll try my best to post ASAP if I'm encouraged though… Chapter three's gonna be a doozie. 


	3. Clam Chowder

Bad, bad me for digressing…skip intro if you want the story (again.) 

General note to everybody: Er, y'all…I don't want to mislead you about Kyros. Like, he's not going to be popping the question any time soon or anything, but he and Rita will share a lot together, as will Jared/Rita and so forth. But Jared and Kyros, as much as they abhor each other, have one thing in common: they're a bit impetuous; on everything. Actions, words, and yes, even kisses. But don't worry; everything will solve itself (I hope). So don't be ringing any imaginary wedding bells for this girl; they're bad for the ears. Oh and, in this chapter, you'll see Rita in a new environment, so she'll be a _bit_ different from vacation girl. Sigh. Vacations are wonderful. (going through post-summer vacation angst, don't mind me…) Again, most of the things that happen in this chapter are important to the plot later on. And I'm sorry for it taking longer than usual to update…I'd like to blame school. But I've survived first week, and all my guy friends' teasing about my shoes. The things girls go through; shoes, the opposite sex, updates…

Thanks (I figured this format would be less confusing…I hope it's not too copy cattish.) 

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Littlemissgiggles: Hey, I was a bit worried I wouldn't hear from you. I'm glad the chapter didn't let you down…hopefully this one won't either. Takes a sharp turn from the last events. And, of course, I'd like your opinion about it when you're done. Thanks bunchies.

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Maudlinrose: Thanks so, so, SO very much for the criticism. You're probably older than me and has had a lot more schooling (so what's a canon character? We haven't covered that yet.) I think I sorta kinda get the whole accidental/purpose thing you're talking about, but not quite. When I put in snarky comments, it's usually from Rita's point of view (like idiot class mates, idiot parties, blah, blah, blah) and, although she doesn't like to admit it, she's fairly bitter. Understandably, I guess. It was funny, your review I mean. You sounded sorta…hesitant. Please don't be; it makes me feel guilty when people are uncomfortable with telling me something. I realize (or, maybe it's in my head) that most of the story is so serious or dark (car accidents, Daybreaker business) so I tried to lighten things up with Kyros and Jared. You know, like how Shakespeare put something funny after something serious happened. Of course, I can't compete with _him_, but I tried and if I've failed, I'll try harder. Oh, and about you not reading anything of mine, keep it that way. DO NOT READ ANYTHING ELSE L.J. SMITH-Y OF MINE. Or I shall fall severely from your relatively high opinion. Any who, I'm glad you think Verity isn't weak, but my later chapters are going to show different sides of her…hopefully, you'll still like her. Oh no, I hope I haven't made it obvious about her soul mate, that simply shows lack of subtlety on my part (which, I may add, hasn't been the first time). I hope I didn't make you wait too long and I also hope chapter three doesn't disappoint you. I'll try to fix the problem whenever (and if) I can recognize it. And if I don't, I'm counting on you to tell me. If you hadn't given your review, I would have probably gotten an oversized ego or something. And they're bad for the backbone. Thank you!! Christ, that was long, wasn't it? My bad; as you well know by now…I talk/write way too much. 

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Aife Bisclaveret: Thanks for reviewing; yours means a lot (er, if you don't know, I like your stories. That's a stupid sentence, of course you know, but well…never mind). And I'm also glad you like Rik and Jared (everybody seems to be in love with Kyros…weird). I've found myself trying to make them tougher, or slightly prejudiced when I realize something…that's your Diablo influencing me!! Argh, why do you have to go and write such memorable characters?! And you have no idea how much I've had to edit from the fox's ramblings…I just don't know where he gets that habit of babbling (look at any one but me). Thanks a _whole_ bunch. 

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Diomede: Yay, you made the sixteenth (sixteen's a good number by the way…at least to sixteen year olds) review. I'm glad you like it (and it's okay about being lazy. You don't know how long it takes me to take out the trash!) Any who, Maria and Valdis are my own characters from another story (and I thought you would know that…). The other original characters will show up later too. I know; I've been waiting forever for Strange Fate to come out…I hope it's soon. It'll look kinda weird when I'm thirty years old and buying a young adult book. Happy trails!

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Person with no name: Hi and thanks for reading…that sounds so cliché, doesn't it? Sorry I can't give you a decently creative response. But I do mean the "hi" part and I also meant the "thanks for reading" part. So I guess I'm trite but sincere!!

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Jiana Weasley: Heavens, you're optimistic. Rita's an okay girl and all, but do you really think she's captured Rik's heart too? But I'm glad you think so highly of her. I laughed when I read you can't spell…trust me, I've been there. I've misspelled centaur (of all things!) at a state spelling bee. But you're young…there's still hope for you…sniffle… J 

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Practikalmagik: Thanks for your opinion. Contemplated about making a Rita a lost witch, but Christ, isn't everybody nowadays? And thanks so much for the last name; I get sort of tired writing Winnie, Winnie, etc. Nothing to be ashamed of though; the Night World is obsession worthy. Thanks!

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Lil'ol'me: Still confused as whether to say that or lil'ol'you. Any who, I'm glad you've been such a faithful reader so far… (though I'm not sure I could say that considering it's only been two chapters. Any who) Hope you still read it when there are a few…twists. I can't help putting them in. And I hope my little pre author notes there explains Kyros. I'm glad you're so attached to him. Looks like my time in NY paid off. J (Erm, don't take that as saying "prison time" in New York, because that's never happened…at least not _yet_)

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Martha: well chapter three up, you know the rest of the sentence. I've never tried clam chowder, but it looks good. And it's thick…see? Thick plot…thick chowder…yes, I realize I'm a moron, you needn't rub it in. 

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Also, thanks to those who may be reading but don't review. And I know you're there…

Vague Verity

Chapter 3

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"If everything seems to be going well, 

~*~*~*~

Anomina, Massachusetts

The administration went so far as to send a letter with their schedules, reminding their students the actual date to show up. Rita doubted her class mates were dense enough to forget the date. First day from vacation was not very exciting, nor needed for academic performance. For this reason, even the honor roll students skipped. But, just her luck, student council presidents never skipped. Rita suspected fellow over achiever Tracy Cox took the ecstasy just to be kicked off the council. It certainly wasn't a fun job.

Despite Mr. William's persistent advice of her "setting a good example for the rest of the school" and showing up on January second, Rita wanted to stay in bed. It was eight o'clock and classes commenced in thirty minutes. She was not going to make it.

Her radio alarm clock had been on for two hours now. Lifting her hand to turn it off took up too much energy. When she heard a high school drop out request "Ding Dong Merrily on High," or "Angels We Have Heard On High" (nearly a week after Christmas) she decided school wasn't so bad if it prevented her from sounding like that idiot.

Rita took her time however. If she was going to be late, she wasn't going to be late with a dowdy appearance. An hour later, she was walking cutting through a neighborhood, in hopes of reaching Anomina High faster. She decided to let her hair down. _To warm my ears_, she kept telling herself. 

She decided to wear the new clothes her mother had given her. When she had opened it, Rita suspected Kyros had somehow hinted the gift to her mother; after all, she had told Mrs. Glisscielle to buy her nothing. Rita was painfully aware of how the white angora sweater emphasized her thinness. She was not emaciated like some girls, but the looks she received from other females almost made her feel guilty for not gaining weight. Their only consolation was her unconditionally generous, Spanish rear. Rita Glisscielle, they would say, has nothing on top, but a lot on the bottom. 

She felt positively naked with the wide boat neck showing so much of her shoulders, which were slightly paler than her neck. The leather flares she sported made Rita wonder where her mother had gotten the money. The pants were not stiff nor squeaky, as Rik's leather jacket had been. But they didn't do much to keep the blood circulating. They were so tight from the knee and up that she momentarily believed asphyxiation was close at hand. But when her mother returned and asked her daughter if she wore them, Rita wanted to please her and answer truthfully.

Anomina High, with its not so creative name, consisted of two five story buildings connected by a large breezeway. Behind it sat the sports fields and in front was the parking lot. It held little beauty and dull tradition, but it was Rita's. By technicality in the antiquated student charter, president of senior student council also owned the rights as student body president. She was the leader. 

On her way in the main building, she had bumped into Mr. Williams. Ever since she tutored the principal's daughter in the tenth grade, the man regarded Rita with disturbing affection. Rita supposed one should be grateful to the girl who saved his daughter's academic career, but really. The least he could have done was be subtle. Nepotism never earned anybody a good reputation. 

"Why hello Rita!" She flinched and stepped back. Her principal always spoke as if everybody was as deaf as he was.

"Hello, Mr. Williams. I was so busy trying to find the perfect out fit for the first day of this semester I lost track of time." Well, at least the losing track of time was somewhat truthful. 

"Oh, that's all right! I know you always think of every thing!" He patted her back pack with unrealized roughness, and walked away. She looked at her schedule and started for the east wing. She had Mrs. Hund again for chemistry. Her greatest and most thoughtful adversary.

She contemplated her relationship with the fifty something woman. To the whole school, her goal in life was to make sure nobody ever received an A in her class. And Rita knew what peeved her the most. By the end of the fall semester, Rita had managed a ninety four point nine. An A. She was the first student to win the chemistry battle. And Mrs. Hund hated her for it.

But, for appearance sake, they got along. Smiling while trying to defeat one another. It was the strangest student teacher relationship the two ever had.

She suspected she had done something wrong to earn those funny stares. Had she asked anybody, Rita would have learned that that was an irrational idea. Not pretty over night, of course because that was impossible, but careless confidence was occasionally attractive in young girls, and Rita had plenty. Wind blown curls that she didn't bother to smooth, face she didn't care to paint, and straight forward gaze that never wavered. She didn't care what they thought, her expression seemed to say, not now not ever. Naturally, Rita assumed they stared because there was a visible booger in her nose, or a bird had left droppings in her hair.

Her door was open, and Rita saw the woman was taking her time writing the scientific method on the board. Quietly, she tried to sneak to the only empty seat in the class while the teacher had her back turned. Hopefully, the woman might not even notice her appearance. But the person who sat behind her would. Rita glared pointedly at Adrian, hoping to stop his grin.

"Well, well, well, Verity Catalina Glisscielle." Rita rolled her eyes and set her book bag on the chair behind her. Mrs. Hund always used students' full name in hopes of embarrassing them. Rita, on the other hand, didn't care one way or the other.

"I guess student body president is good enough for my little old class, aren't you Rita? Do you have an excuse slip?" Still facing her teacher, Rita carefully reached behind her and swiftly ripped the half the zipper off of her back pack.

"I was speaking with Mr. Williams when my book bag broke and all my notebooks spilled out," she explained innocently, her green eyes never faltering. When Mrs. Hund's eyes narrowed skeptically, Rita held up her book bag and pointed to the torn zipper. "See?"

Unable disprove her excuse, Mrs. Hund nodded and handed her some papers. Next, she moved on with a lesson everybody had learned in junior high. Most of the class, as usual, was asleep. Kyros, Rik, and Jared were on the other side of the room; Jared, sleeping. 

"Oh I'm sorry, Rita," Mrs. Hund suddenly said as she turned away from the board. "There was a mistake on your report card. I decided to give you a new print out, just so you wouldn't wonder." Her teacher made herself sound like a saint, just for pressing print on her computer.

It didn't matter what assignment the hag unfairly graded. Rita skimmed the paper until she reached the final grade. Eighty eight. Mrs. Hund all but pounced upon her when Rita raised her hand.

"Yes?" Even on the first day, the woman was eager for a fight. She knew Rita always accepted the grades and then worked harder. But, according to some rumors, this was not the same Rita.

Rita's tone would have frozen an active volcano. "I would like to know, Mrs. Hund, how a supposedly missing pre lab can take seven points off a final grade."

"I never received one from you. Labs are really important, Rita. That's why we have so many." Mrs. Hund gestured to the ten lab tables to the left. Rita's expression remained stony.

"You didn't answer my question," she stated.

"And you didn't either," Mrs. Hund returned. "There were questions on your lab that you didn't answer correctly."

Rita gave her an elaborately patient smile. "So then you've seen this lab. Other wise how would you know I didn't answer correctly?"

The woman visibly stiffened and, for a few seconds, appeared at a loss for words. Raymond, one of the high school's quarter backs, let out a bark of laughter. "Mrs. Hund, she got you." His booming voice awakened the other students.

Mrs. Hund ignored him. "You also received a seventy on your last quiz. That must be what brought your grade down."

"Last time I checked it was a ninety three," she remarked with false surprise. Mrs. Hund understood she would not let go of this matter.

"I assigned you the pages in the book," the teacher reminded her. "If you read them properly, you would have known how to do the math."

But Rita refused to lose this one, not after she worked day and night for her former grade.

"Is the book supposed to help us at school, too?" Jared awoke at the sound of Rita's predatory voice. Like a cat cornering her mouse.

"That's why I make you bring it to class everyday, Rita." The woman had the nerve to make it sound like Rita was the stupid one.

"Then if all you do, Mrs. Hund, is assign pages and then test us over it, there is no point. Might as well just give us a piece of paper with the numbers on it. There is no need for your transparencies and your science videos. There is no need for _you_." The class emitted gasps and giggles. Jared let out a low whistle. Then they waited for Mrs. Hund's reaction.

"What if the administrators hear about your behavior?" she threatened sweetly. Now the class waited for Rita's verbal volley. 

Rita's hands clenched. She had never been in trouble, ever. It was another shining record of which she was proud. "Why do we have to bother the administrators? Let's go straight to the principal."

There. She played the principal card. She had always been above that before, but then again, she never had Mrs. Hund before. "Well, Mrs. Hund?" Rita stood up casually and pulled her bag to her shoulder. "Are you ready to go? Mr. Williams is usually pretty busy, but I'm sure he'll make some time for me."

"Show down at Anomina High," she heard Jared mutter.

Forty seconds slowly ticked by. Rita knew because she counted each one. Finally Mrs. Hund looked away and said, "Sit down, Rita. I'll look at your grades later."  


There was a silent applause from her class mates when she took her seat. She could tell by their little smiles, or the glimmer in their eyes. Rita had said what every other student wanted to say. _Four months of being their president, and_ now _I get their respect by mouthing off to a teacher._ But she smiled back any way. Next to the principal, Rita practically ruled the school when she chose to, and allowed her to get away with anything.

Not that she would do anything illegal to get away _with_, of course…_well, I just jinxed myself again._

Her enjoyment was short lived when she felt somebody tug on her hair. Irritated, she turned and met glacially blue eyes. "Stop that," she hissed. He smiled.

"It's just as soft as last time," he murmured, twisting a lock around his finger. "Just as shiny."

His knowing touch drove her to immediate anger. "Let go of my hair, you freak, before I tell the teacher."

"Call me crazy, but I don't think she'd take a bullet for you right now."

Rita ignored the childish pang to say, "All right, Crazy." Sighing, she turned back around and pulled all her hair over her shoulder. None of the tresses was going to be touched by that…that…_man_. For the rest of the uneventful period, she could feel his eyes on her, their tiny icicles drilling into her skull. She shuddered when she felt his breath on the back of her exposed neck.

"You shouldn't have worn white," he whispered, pronouncing each word with effortless sensuality. Without asking for permission, Rita abruptly gathered her things and moved to a laboratory table. Mrs. Hund said nothing, much to her dismay. Another argument would have taken Rita's mind off of her former husband. Rita smiled to herself; she never would have guessed she would worry about a former husband in the middle of class.

"Girl, what has gotten into you?" Samantha Rochert asked her excitedly when it was time to go. Sam, or Sammy T as some people affectionately called her, was a petite girl with beautiful black braids cascading to her waist. And she did. Not. Shut. Up. Rita tolerated her because she knew it was not out of snobbery, just inconsiderate fickleness. Plus Samantha Rochert had photographic memory, and Rita always asked her for turn out details for student council's planned events.

Rita shrugged as they separated. Wasn't it obvious to everybody? She simply needed that A.

Lunch was a trying ordeal. With the new schedules, nobody knew just who they were going to sit with. But Rita did not worry, she fully intended to break bread with Ophelia Brown. When she squeezed her way through the double doors, lunch bag in hand, somebody had already planned her seat.

Jason Riley grabbed her arm and propelled her to his table. Rita guessed that Jared would call the people who sat there the "popular pricks." There were three homecoming queens, and four girls who won a beauty pageant at least once. In the males, there was the general ne'er do well pranksters, self proclaimed gardeners, and moody boys who always thought of themselves.

Jason was too dumb to think of pranks, too rich to dare touch soil, and so that left one thing; perpetual anger. "Will you please sit with me?" He asked redundantly even as he dragged her to an empty chair. "I don't get this whole moles thing, that woman is such an evil whore." Any other girl would have been thrilled if a boy, who looked like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine, dragged her to the popular table asking for help. But Rita disliked being any other girl.

"Sorry," she said, refusing to sit down, even when he held the chair out for her. The beauty queens stopped their conversations with the boys and looked up at her expectantly. "But I have some other people to sit with." Only her palpable tension kept the people from rolling their eyes. During the last three years, Rita always sat by herself, unafraid of anybody's judgment.

"But I need help," he repeated. "If I don't understand it now, I'll fail senior year." Jason looked like he was going to forcibly make her sit down. Just so he could graduate to some party college.

"So sad, too bad. I hate to break it to you, Jason, but the world doesn't revolve around you." The fact that she said it didn't shock her; she just forgot to keep her voice down.

Victoria Bullen laughed. She was a woman who could over take Russia if she wanted to. By no means did she hold any intelligence, just sheer determination. "She's right you know. Just let her go and I'll teach you about the Avagadro's number."

"But you're too stupid," Jason snapped, eyes darkening. "Rita knows what this crap is all about."

"But maybe I don't want to spend my entire lunch period teaching a sullen boy something he should have learned last year. If you will excuse me-"  


"Problem, Rita?" Kyros appeared out of nowhere. She was about to smile when she remembered he had kissed her and then left her high and dry. Not to mention alone on Christmas. Now he just breezed in, and expected to be her knight in shining armor. _What am I supposed to do, swoon? Over my dead body._ Rita shook her head and sat down.

"No. I'm just going to help my friend, Jason. You could leave now," she dismissed him brusquely. Jason smiled at Kyros as if he just won the prize. The shifter merely glared and then stalked away, thinking the girl an ungrateful wretch; after all, he had secretly hinted to Mrs. Glisscielle to buy the clothes. One would think she'd at least look at him with a friendly eye.

Rita's eyes followed him, and made a mental note that the Daybreakers sat in the corner of the cafeteria. She turned back to her lunch, emptying the contents viciously; she was probably the first girl to use the "popular pricks" to make the new boy jealous.

"Who was _that_?" Marjorie asked with obvious interest. Rita did not fully understand why Marjorie was so popular, with neither beauty, brains, or apparent talent. She was certainly friendly. She guessed it was her sense of style, for boys always stared at her blouse when Marjorie spoke to them.

"Ky… Bob Steve," she replied shortly and took out her science note book. She handed Jason her notes, ones in her own words and not Mrs. Hund's. Still affected by Kyros' sudden appearance, she harshly slapped Bryan Smith's hand away from her cookies.

"Is he yours?" Trina Malbet asked hopefully. The red head without a cause. Rita swallowed a mouthful of goldfish before answering.

"No, thank heavens. I'd rather own a rabid hippopotamus." Matt Joldin laughed so hard fruit punch squirted out of his nose. This was the partially schizophrenic, partially comatose junior-senior. All the girls leapt from the table as if the fruit punch was a mouse.

"Sorry," Matt giggled. "I just suddenly got a vision of a rabid hippo. It was really funny." Rita rolled her eyes and turned to Jason to explain the importance of the mysterious mole.

But during the last ten minutes of lunch, Jason closed her note book. He only shrugged when she received a paper cut from his rude action. "I get it now," he explained conceitedly. As if he learned the whole thing all by himself, Rita noticed with disappointment.

Bryan Smith asked, rather abruptly, "Who was that naked guy you were with at Scott's?"

He could not have been any more random. Other conversations came to a screeching halt at the word "naked." Once again, she found expectant eyes on her.

"Jared Luna," she answered, looking down at her food. "And his clothes were nearby." The juice box. She just had to focus on the juice box, and all the nervousness would disappear. And yet the one hundred percent fruit drink did nothing to stop Bryan's queries. _Stupid store brand juice box._

"Who's Jared Luna? Is he a senior?" Rita nodded at Bryan, trying to ignore the other girls' curiosity. With one paralyzing look from his orange eyes, the others turned away. Rita was one of the few who could meet that look. More than once, he had thrown it her way during warm debates of Current Events class. The two never agreed.

"He has been for almost three years. C'mon, Bryan, concentrate. He pulled your gym shorts down in the middle of P.E. last year?" Rita couldn't help but smile at the memory. Jared had snuck up behind just as Bryan attempted a lay up, resulting with Bryan furiously chasing after the wolf. Her newfound knowledge of their species certainly explained why it took so long for the coaches to catch the pair.

His amber eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, Jared Luna. God, I hate that dog." Rita stiffened at the word dog, but she tried to keep her face neutral. Bryan was nothing compared to Jason and Scott's well toned muscles. He was thin, with only slight indications of strength, with hair that reached past his ears. His skin was paler than the snow, and yet managed to avoid the sickly look. When provoked, he exuded more menace than the wrestling team. 

She had known him since she was five and he six. But she would have never have guessed that Bryan Smith was one of _them_. Probably a vampire by the way he spoke of the werewolf. How many of her childhood her friends were one of _them_? How many had left her front yard after a day of playing only to start hunting? No; she refused to think of that now. 

"Yes," she agreed. "Nothing is more irritating than a flea bag." It wasn't betraying Jared exactly; after all, she said _a_ flea bag, not _that_ flea bag. Bryan smiled, approval coolly glinting in his eyes. He had been sitting a seat away from her, with Jason between them. Because the spoiled brat was not about to move from the newly bloomed socialite, Bryan stood up and shared her seat.

"This would not be so uncomfortable if you scooted over," he told her, quite serious. The boy, as far as she knew, was always serious. Her face showed she didn't like such close contact. Her calf was against his calf, knee against knee, and hip against hip. The original belief was that the only warmth Bryan had was in his eyes, but Rita learned she was completely wrong when she felt his unavoidable heat against her body. She couldn't comprehend how the other girls flirted this intensely every day without breaking into a sweat.

"But I sat here first."

"I assumed you were interested in our conversation," he replied icily. Rita was not offended; he displayed this sort of friendly attitude to every one.

"I still am. And I could hear you just fine from your original seat." But even as she said it, Walter appeared and took the vacated spot. Again, Bryan smiled.

"Tell me something, Rita…"

"I never listen to things that begin with 'Tell me something'."

He frowned, but continued. "Tell me why you don't have a boy friend." Rita blinked several times, unable to answer. He looked around them, not caring if some girls were still listening to their private conversation. "Stiff competition?"

"From what I've heard, the competition is fairly flexible. You should know." As soon as she said it, Rita's hands flew to her mouth. It was something Jared would say, but not her. Not the mature senior-junior president.

"Too true," he admitted wryly. "We have a few talented contortionists here."

"Please," she interrupted, "Even if you don't have to eat, I do." Rita held up her last cookies as proof. "Don't spoil my appetite."

Bryan snatched the cookies and stuffed all three in his mouth. "Still want them?" he asked spitefully, his cheeks resembling a chipmunk's. Rita frowned, disgusted. A little rumble from her stomach mourned the loss.

"Oh, you're an evil boy," she told him, rising from her seat. It was as if they reverted back to the days when he pulled her hair. "There, have the chair all to yourself." She began heading for the exit.

"Where are you going?" he asked, a few steps behind her. Instead of answering, Rita waved graciously to the Math Team table. The vegetarian club, she noticed, scowled at her leather pants. Something to deal with later.

"I don't want to tell you." 

"I'll follow you then." This was said as she passed by Jared and Kyros. Both their expressions darkened. Their reactions brought much spiteful pleasure to her, and to her professed stalker.

"I'd like to see you try," she murmured as they walked down an empty hall. Rita knew what to do when a man stalked her in a public place. Smiling sweetly, she breezily entered the girls restroom, fully expecting him to stand agape while the door slammed into his face.

One could not possibly imagine her surprise when she saw his reflection behind hers as she carefully smoothed her hair.

"This is the girl's bathroom, Bryan. It's the only place where we don't have to deal with the stupider sex. Get out." He began to respond when a toilet flushed and Ophelia Brown stepped out. And she was smiling, nervously. Poor, ignorant little thing. 

"Hi, Rita," she managed. Bryan smirked while Rita initiated small talk in hopes of driving the boy out by boredom.

"Ophelia, get out," he ordered easily. The round face fell blank and she nodded submissively. "Oh, and I wasn't in here." Again, Ophelia nodded before quickly retreating. 

"We were speaking," she said, peeved at his chilly loftiness. "One does not use mind control in the middle of a private conversation." Smith shrugged as he locked the bath room door.

"Do you have a date to Anniversary Soiree?" Her eyes narrowed to green daggers. The formal event was a few weeks away, on the date Anomina was first founded. The soiree was peak of the senior year; something the lower classes longed for and the seniors reveled in preparing. She and her committee had been planning for it since day one. It was not something purely platonic couples attended.

And now, Bryan Smith, a boy who only noticed her when she fully disagreed with his views, was asking her if she had a date. 

She leaned against the wall, attempting aloofness. "Why? So you can taunt him till Doomsday?"

Rita was not afraid to be in a locked bathroom, alone with a vampire she barely knew any more. A paper cut to boot. But if he was with the Night World, he wouldn't have sat with the popular human clique. And she didn't believe he could very well kill a child hood friend. Nobody was that heartless.

With admirable grace and elegance, he advanced upon her until their bodies were a few inches apart. "No. So I can beat him into letting me take you. We'll go on other dates before the soiree, of course, to get to know each other…"

"Bryan Smith, you're a shallow, superficial creature," she exclaimed heatedly before she could help herself. Bryan stepped away, taken aback by the unflattering words. He had fully expected a shy acceptance.

"What on earth is going on? I wear a dress to a party, squeeze into leather pants, wrongfully mouth off to a teacher, and all of a sudden I'm the belle of the school?"

"I wouldn't say belle, exactly…"

"You're as deep as a drained lake. Why are you asking me to the AS, Bryan?" Rita demanded, hands on hips. Which she regretted, for his eyes lingered on that unfortunately round body part until she cleared her throat. 

"I'm not asking you. I'm _telling_ you."

"And why is that? Are you stunned by my intellect? Are you impressed by my GPA? Or is it my variety of extra curricular activities that seduces you?"

"For some time now, I've admired your debating ability and leader ship qualities. And your ass, no matter how baggy your jeans were," he answered truthfully. The reply was merely a way to irritate her further; it succeeded.

"Ha! I knew it, I knew it! And what stopped you from asking me before? My loose sweaters and glasses?"

"Actually, no. I've been trying to figure out whether you're a lesbian or not." Rita's hands dropped from her sides around the same time her jaw dropped to the floor. _That_ wasn't something she expected. But it did explain the enigmatic stares he had been giving since school commenced. 

"Don't look so surprised. After all, you showed no interest in males and you only really talked to other girls. The lack of feminine fashion, as you mentioned, also made me wonder."

"If I supposedly only talked to other girls, it's because this school is rampant with idiot males like you. So if a girl doesn't wear skin tight clothes, she's a lesbian?" Rita had nothing against lesbians, but his stereotypical ideas of them sparked her indignity immediately. Bryan held up his hands in surrender.

"Fine, fine, it was wrong of me to think so. Forgive? After all, you already categorized my group as popular pricks before you even sat down."

"You read my mind!?"  


"Umm… Come on, Rita. Be my date or I'll spread a nasty rumor about you and Jared." She hoped he was joking, but she couldn't tell by his expression.

"There are plenty of other girls willing to go," she said quietly, not exactly refusing. Her mind wandered to the popular humans, and then the to-die-for Night World citizens. She was just Rita Glisscielle.

"Yeah, to be seen with me," he said, his repugnance for them apparent. "They're only good for midnight snacks." His faintly hungry look ignited suspicion in Rita's green eyes.

"And on these pre-AS dates, am I going to have to wear turtle necks?"

"Of course not," he snorted, irked at being thought of as an uncontrollable parasite. "There are plenty of other blood banks around here. If it bothers you that much to help a friend, I promise I won't take a drop."

"Or a quart, a pint, a gallon, and any other unit of liquids," she warned. "I have friends in high places, you know. They'd hurt you." Rita pushed aside the fact that she hadn't spoken to them in nearly three weeks.

"Yeah, so do I. Very high," he chuckled at his own joke. Rita watched fascinated as his amber eyes glowed into a reddish fire. Then he straightened, his expression returning to the gravity with which she was accustomed. "I promise not to feed on you. You have my word."

She guessed being a vampire and such gave him and his people the right to give their "words" without looking ridiculously traditional. "And don't be surprised if I cancel suddenly. I have lots of things going on, here and at home."

"Things like what? Organizing your pocket protectors?" Rita knew, although he joked, that questions of her schedule would pop up eventually. It would be better to tell him now, so her hopes would not raise with these future rendez vous. 

She took a deep breath and began. "Remember Melissa? Well, she's turned into a mentally disabled sister at home, her condition a result of the infamous drug dealer years back and a car accident. My mother, the nurse, and I take turns taking care of her. After school one Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have Math Team, Beta Club, and tutoring sessions. I'm relatively poor, so I can't pay for any of these dates. There. Still want to take me out?"

"You talk rather quickly," he replied immediately, not missing a beat. "But I think I got the gist of it. All right, I'll play this game. You know I have one very rich father, and one extremely spoiled little sister. And I don't give a damn if she fell off a cliff and landed in a pit of pointy sticks. Lamia, if you haven't guessed. My mother ran away, with another _woman_, when I was thirteen. Yeah," he confirmed, seeing her expression, "those rumors were true. That explains my questioning your sexuality, I guess. On all the days of the week, I hang out with John Otis and company to laugh at their herbal influences. Seeing as I'm fairly rolling in money, I don't see a problem in buying your affection. After all, my father bought mine and my little sister's. There, still want to go with me?"

Rita did not at all feel special. It was certain nobody else in the whole school knew this, but she guessed the only reason he told her was to win this "game." Of course, his sob story paled in comparison to hers. She shook her head, smiling.

"Buddy, that is nothing. _My_ father died of lung cancer when I was two, remember? I win this game, by a long shot."

"Dammit," he swore softly, but grinned. "I guess you do. Even if one is off living her bisexual fantasy, both my parents are alive."

Rita had no expectations for this developing relationship, but decided it would be useful. Although estranged, Bryan Smith would have his connections to the Night World. If she learned how to "butter him up," perhaps Rita guessed she would be more of a help to Circle Daybreak; and let them leave as soon as possible. "Another thing," she said. "No swearing. I can't stand it when people swear."

"On one condition." Rita raised one eyebrow questioningly. "A kiss."

"Goodness no," she exclaimed, blushing as she walked to the door. His tempting smile disturbed her to agitation. "We haven't even gone on a date yet. And, even at the end of our first, it isn't proper to kiss. Second date, maybe."

"Oh no," he groaned as they ambled out the door. "You're traditional, too. I guess I won't be getting lucky on any of our nights out." Rita didn't answer; outside the door stood a long line of girls, antsy to enter. Two of them Winnie and Fayth.

~*~*~*~

It was a dull, unimaginative theater. White walls, white pillars, and a black carpeted sloping floor. The only noteworthy quality was the size, and the impressively large entrance way in which the audience could mingle and discuss the piece. But during school hours, nobody except the drama class was allowed in there; one could not afford distractions during the rehearsal. There was, of course, one student who would not face punishment if she sat in the back row. 

Rita and Adrian were the only ones in the audience. One second the seat beside her was empty. In a heart beat, Adrian Amaro lounged lazily in it. If she wasn't so absorbed in the rehearsal, she would have squeaked in alarm.

"What are you doing here? From what I've heard, you're the model student." Under other circumstances, she would have quivered at the whisper in her ear. It ruffled her hair, and warmed her cheek. She suspected listening to his voice evoked the same feelings as kissing his lips. Rita pinched at her hands, trying to extinguish the hot tingles in them.

"Ssh," she said immediately, and her eyes followed the drama students' feet. Not exactly in time with the beat, she noted disappointedly. If Mr. Nowlan didn't fix it, Rita refused to advertise the play in the morning announcements and upper class men bulletin board.

It was a play based on the myth Pygmalion, complete with plaster life size statue. Rita cringed at the thought of the total expense. For some reason beyond anybody's comprehension, the crazed teacher decided to set it in Ancient Rome with contemporary artists' songs. He had called it, "Realistic with a little bit of un realism." Rita had no inkling how it how "realistic" it would turn out considering half the girls involved were platinum blondes. Susan Phyrne's voice barely did the songs justice, but she would have to do. No other female singer was willing to bear the tyrannical director's temper.

When Mr. Nowlan ordered everybody to take five, Rita faced the impudent boy beside her. His long legs rested on the seats before them. Amaro looked like a snake basking in the sun, relaxed but ready to strike.

"Hello Gitana. Remember me?" The boy was absurdly pleased with himself.

"It's hard to forget a boy who constantly harasses you, Adrian."

He smiled, a suggestive curve that could have shattered rainbows. "I see your memory improves. Care to repeat history?" He moved closer, forcing Rita farther into her seat.

"I don't remember everything," she whispered violently. "And I'm glad I don't remember your kisses."

"You did not seem to think so before, querida." Her eyes focused on the empty stage, safely away from his smoldering gaze.

"Stop calling me that. Don't you see that I hate you? I've never met a man so in love with himself. The mirror is probably you're only friend." And that barb struck.

"After all I sacrificed for you—" he began.

"Let's see, Gitana bravely chooses to stay in the burning stables for her almost love and you…" she thought hard for his so-called sacrifice. "Lose the hay?"

"My pride, for one thing. And my common sense."

Adrian eased into his own seat. For a few minutes as the crew repositioned the stage lights, the two sat in silence; Rita in intense discomfort and Adrian in deep thought.

"The wedding was beautiful, you know," he murmured. No trace of amusement, snobbery, seduction, or arrogance. Just a neutral remark. Despite its seemingly harmlessness, she didn't answer. Sooner or later, the conversation would return to disagreement. But…she was curious, for she had never been to a wedding. 

Somehow, Adrian sensed it and continued with, "You truly dripped with jewels. The envy of every woman in the church. Misa lasted three hours. Naturally, I wanted you to wear red, but you insisted on white. Probably the only girl in the whole village who lived up to the color's meaning."

Cautiously, her eyes slid to his. But he took no notice; Amaro was somewhere very far away, where their love still burned brightly. "You worried that you wouldn't be able to walk down the aisle without collapsing. Diamonds are heavy on a dress, I presume. But I wanted diamonds, no matter how frail you were. And you were frail, Gitana, very delicate…"

Up until he said those words, Rita swore he had no emotions other than self adoration. But his words played such a tragic note, his voice grasping at something long dead. But, even more disturbing, something he wanted to revive.

"After the wedding and before the dinner, I held out the over coat for you, because it was very cold again. You, childish little chit, said you didn't want to change dresses because your white one was satisfactory. Didn't even know what an over coat was," he laughed softly, ocean eyes lost in the past. Rita resisted the urge to laugh with him. His rich voice sounded so tender, so sad…

Heavens, was he a smooth one. Quicker than lightning, but as stealthy as the darkness. Rita had never met a person quite so skilled with playing emotions. _Amaro belongs on the stage_, she thought bitterly. She stood up, her expression as dark as her hair. "This was supposed to be my free time," she snapped, annoyed. "Now I've wasted it with you." 

Rita stood and began to walk away. He grabbed her elbow and she twisted it to escape his grasp. She ignored the pain it caused, for it was nothing compared to living Gitana Amaro's life again.

No matter how soft his voice became and no matter how vulnerable his expression looked, Rita refused to fall for the act again. It wouldn't be fair, after all Gitana endured and sacrificed, to let herself become the victim again. One wife was all this man deserved.

She made it as far as the door way. Unfortunately, out of anybody's view.

~*~*~*~

Prior Past 

The impact of the metal bars threw off her balance. Instead of scratching at his arm, she leaned upon it, not wanting to slide to the ground. It would ruin her pretty dress.

Her world spun cruelly, not caring if she ached so much she was sure she'd die. The nobleman dropped his arm, standing before her with wild amazement. Although his hand no longer held her prisoner, his eyes demanded her stay. Fearfully, she complied and watched with quiet terror as he paced.

"Did you feel that?" He asked, pointing an accusing finger at her. His eyes, as dark as the night, some how blazed with wild wonder. Angrily, Gitana raised her head to meet them.

"Of course I felt it, estupido. I was the one who couldn't breathe, remember?" If she was going to die tonight, she would do it saying all the things she wanted to say.

"No, no, no," he snapped, running short of patience. The boy's hands cupped her head, holding it up so that her eyes could not avoid his, the nearly black abyss that was supposed to be the windows to his soul. 

"This." Pain, anger, confusion, astonishment, frightening impatience…she could feel it in his lips, in a kiss that should have seared her to smoky ashes. He did not wait for her to understand, that much was obvious as he forced her mouth open, demanding an equally passionate response. His teeth scraped against hers, his tongue promising to teach her what she obviously did not know. Gitana had never received a kiss before in her life, and, after this scorching touch, she was sure she would never be satisfied by any other.

Damn. Just when she thought he had enough advantages over her, she forgot to put witchcraft on the list. What next? Talking animals? 

Because he didn't _say_ anything. The man had felt it. And she _felt_ him feel it. She was so shocked it would have taken a gentle breeze to knock her over.

"What did you do? How did you…"  


"No," the boy interrupted, speaking to himself. "I suppose you wouldn't understand. But you did feel my mind, correct?"

She nodded dumbly. "And…you felt mine?"

"Of course I did. Don't you see what's going on?" Gitana tried her best to appear informed, but failed miserably. With an apologetic smile, she shook her head.

"We are what my people call soul mates," he explained impatiently. "We're stuck together." With another impatient shake of his handsome head, he scratched his chin, deep in thought.

"Soul mates," she repeated. "But I don't even know your name." Before she could blink, the forward manner vanished and in its place came the proper gentleman's demeanor.

"Adrian Amaro," he said, with no trace of emotion. "I would kiss your hand at this introduction, but apparently you don't enjoy my touch."  


Gitana opened her mouth to question the reason he was offended. _He_ was the one who nearly strangled her and then forced his advances upon her. And now he was annoyed with _her_. It was the first time she ever heard of the victim at fault during an assault. "It's true," she agreed, trying to imitate his cold voice, "such privileges are given with my consent. Not taken by some barbarian who claims he is my soul mate."

"Claims? Of all the men you've touched, how many have been able to read your mind? And have any read yours?"

His logic held no faults; that very fact caused her to snap, "I don't know. I've never touched any men…perhaps this is something all men can do and women don't find out until they're attacked."

"Or married," he added, his sudden smile warning her to tread softly. "All soul mates, of course, are supposed to be married." She took a moment to register the change of mood; he changed his emotions like one changed dance positions.

"Well, good for them," she huffed angrily, fists clenching. "Is that your rule or God's?"

His shrug indicated he neither knew nor cared. "Would you rather live together, in sin?"

"Who said anything about living together?" she roared, head pounding with indignity. Gitana fought back the urge to stamp her foot. But her rancor had blown past boiling point, and she no longer cared if she received a whipping for her words. "You act as if, because I am of a lower class, I can be pushed around like furniture. But I'm telling you now, Adrian Amaro, I'd rather wallow in the mud with the pigs than ever kiss you again. At least they don't speak like that!"

"Fine! Go, if you never want to see me again, I have some pigs of my own around here. You are welcome to their pen."

"They are most likely as disgusting as you, you…you repulsive devil!"  


His arms darted out like cobras and encircled her, pinning her arms against her body. As she struggled, her captor merely constricted until she thought her heart would burst at the lack of room. Gitana kicked his knees, stamped on his foot, and even tried to bite his ear. All the while, his embrace held tight until she leaned on him exhaustedly, black hair curling against her damp forehead.

"I'm not giving up," she informed him breathlessly. "I'm just resting. Wait a few moments while I catch my second wind." He only nodded, obviously amused.

Then, after they realized the second wind refused invitation, the arms squeezed tighter. "You do not want to be with me?"

"After all that I've said, you're asking if I don't want to be with you? I've never met a man so stupid!" she professed to the sky, exasperated. Hopefully, angels would come and knock this man into a deep, perpetual sleep. 

"We are soul mates. We understand each other. And I know you are tired of traveling, and not knowing when or where the next meal comes. I could help you." He shook her lightly when he saw her suspicious eyes. 

"If you will not marry me for love, then use reason. What sensible girl would turn away a chance to join the aristocracy? To turn in her plain white dress for ball gowns? The back of a merchant's cart for a carriage fit for a queen? Your mother even told you so, Gitana. Live with by your stomach and not by your heart. What will you do if you cannot dance? Starve to death?"

"It's not fair to use my mother's words against me; she was either drunk or delirious at the time." Which explained Senora Benevita's lack of imagination for her only daughter's name. "I demand you release me at once, or may the Lord strike you dead."

"Strike me with what?" he laughed, obviously not understanding her earnestness.

"I don't know," she admitted, flustered. "Whatever he has. And, believe me, Dios has a lot of things."

"Really? And how was that trip to the Holy Arms chamber? However did you manage to get the master to show you around heaven?"

"I don't like to be mocked," she warned belligerently. 

"And I don't like to be refused," he replied, his voice losing the taunting tone. "Your wish as a child, and possibly presently, was to marry young and have many children. Even your dying mother wished she had grandchildren. I am granting that wish."

"Without my consent!"  


"Is that all that bothers you? That is the silliest reason I've ever heard of for refusing a proposal."

"Oh," she remarked with false surprise, "there was a proposal somewhere between the commands? I must have been so short of breath I never noticed it."

"Do I have your consent, or will I have to hold a knife behind your back at the altar?"

"How can a girl refuse such a passionate offer?" Gitana asked flatly. "Can you hear my answer as my ribs are being cracked?"

"Exactly what I'm wondering. Have you any idea the number of women seeking matrimony with me?"

"And a good number of them are crazed, blind, or mute. What are you going to do? Keep me in this crushing embrace until I relent?"

"If that's what it takes…"

"Then I hope you had a long siesta. Because we are going to be here all night!"

"Then it is a night well spent," he returned gravely. His blue eyes pierced directly into hers, shining so brightly she was certain the very sky envied him. Senor Amaro had beautiful lips, she noticed distractedly. Lips that belonged a sculpture, and eyes that belonged to the heavens. Their children would be stunning. Godly and well fed children, living with their godly and well fed parents. The thought brought pleasant euphoria to her.

"I haven't a coin to my name," she whispered. Which was true. All she owned in the world was a few dresses and a good luck, faceless rag doll her mother gave her. "And people say not nice things about me."  


"Then I will kill them." Gitana knew he meant every word. "If you do not say yes, right now, I will find a way to keep you in Morta Vitez. No merchant will take you any where. Stay with me, Gitana, my little gypsy. What is a man without his complete soul?"

~*~*~*~

Without the lights of the stage, the theater entrance held shady silence. Strange how the thespians' voices didn't reach the her ears. Because her anger reached theirs.

"You never knew," he realized quietly, stroking her cheek. _Poor ignorant thing_, he thought sadly. "Up until now, you never knew why I was that important. You actually believed the stable boy was your soul mate."

She did the only thing that came to mind. Rita punched him. All the anger and confusion he planted drove with her fist. The unexpected blow sent him reeling to the opposite wall.

"You _knew_!" she accused, eyes hysterical. "You knew from the beginning. You knew and you still hurt me! I was your other half and you _hurt_ me! You knew," she cried, chest heaving. 

Rita wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt her. She wanted to see him flinch, she wanted to see him cowering in a corner. All Rita wanted was to see him cry. Nothing would bring her more pleasure than hearing his heart break; just as hers had. When she spoke, her lips poured forth a sound far too hateful to be sane.

"What is a man without his complete soul? You, Adrian Amaro. And I hate you. I have never hated any one as much as you." All the while, her hands reached for him in frenzied motions, not caring where or how she hurt him. A nail scratched at his cheek. Her thumb jammed into his throat. She tried anything just to see him wince.

"Gitana, lower your voice…" His anger bounced in rich booms throughout the entire theater.

"And if I don't?" she challenged defiantly. "Will you hit me again?"

Adrian's eyes darted from her face to the teacher swiftly heading towards them. The incline of the floor made it difficult for his wheel chair, but the unfolding violence made Mr. Nowlan determined on stopping them. It would not do to have blood spilt on the carpet. And, more importantly, they interrupted rehearsal.

"Have you nothing to say? Is Adrian Amaro, the great and the hated, speechless? Good. I am glad-"  


"What is it you want? An apology?" The manner in which he said it suggested disbelief. As if there was no reason for her fury.

"No. I wish to see you burned. Tortured, in some way, but burning is all that comes to mind." 

"What the hell is going on here?" Mr. Nowlan hollered as he pulled up behind her. She paid him no attention.

"You knew," she repeated, voice breaking, "and you never told me. You never told me what you are and or why we never had a family. Your own _soul mate_, Adrian."

He didn't respond; his eyes remained on her, the unreadable expression meeting her tearful anger. Mr. Nowlan asked again, and Adrian tore his gaze away.

"That was an audition, Mr. Nowlan. I am a new student here, and an old friend of Rita's. I was just helping her with her lines; she wishes to be in the play." 

"It's a lie," she contradicted venomously, and ignored the warning in his eyes. "I have no time to be in a play." 

Mr. Nowlan appeared puzzled. Who was he to believe: the responsible student body president, or the mysterious strapping young man…

"Of course, she's too bashful to admit it. It would be ridiculous to think all those things she said was true, right Rita?" She saw there was no point in contradicting again; Mr. Nowlan's opinion had already been swayed by Amaro's good looks.

"Of course," she echoed, suddenly feeling hollow. "Being soul mates with this man would be entirely ridiculous. If you will excuse me…" Rita ignored Mr. Nowlan's calls of rehearsal times; she had no intention of supporting Amaro's lie. And if she didn't maintain her guarded expression and glowering eyes, she was afraid she'd cry.

~*~*~*~

"He's _what_?" Jared stared at her as if she'd just told him she set the school on fire. Fearful and worried of her sanity.

Rita sighed sorrowfully, eyes cast down. When school was five minutes from ending, Rita spotted Jared among the sea of cars, sitting on the Yota without a care in the world. She gravitated to him, hoping to find some peace of mind from the only untroubled person she knew. And she wanted a ride home.

"My soul mate," she repeated dully. Another wistful sigh escaped her as Jared lit a cigarette; for her fate and for his with the Marlboro. "As if life wasn't complicated enough."

"Aw…fuck," he swore, unable to avoid the oath. Then Jared shook his head. "Never fails. Every damn Daybreak mission, there has to be a soul mate ship involved…We're gonna hafta think about this." Jared, with his usual declination of asking, pulled her onto the car hood next to him. Deep in thought, he exhaled the smoke as Rita felt her limbs go numb.

"So…we can't kill him?" he asked as casually as possible.   


Rita rolled her eyes and gave an irritated hmph. Something she had a tendency to do quite often, he observed. "Of course you can. As a matter of fact, I forbid you of not killing him. Heavens, I hate the very thought of walking down the street and simply _killing_ someone, but I think this is necessary."

"Heavens," he mimicked in a high voice. "It won't be easy, you know. Amaro's old, I mean really old. Might be as old as that bitch Mya."  


"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Listen, you want a ride? I was supposed to wait for Rik and Fayth but since they're not here…" Rita grinned, reluctant to mention the dismissal bell had yet to ring. "I figure they got a ride from the fox. Let's go," he said decidedly, not waiting for her answer.

They sat in silence as he pulled from the lot and put the teenager trap far behind them. Unlike his people, Jared drove at a relatively careless speed, either fifteen below or above, indifferent of the direction and time. With one hand on the wheel and the other draped over the back of her seat, he occasionally glanced at her as if she were a riddle waiting to be solved. Finally, out of irritation, she lightly tapped his knee.

"What's up with you? Tell me why you keep looking at me."

He shrugged and threw the cigarette out the window, causing Rita to frown. An unresponsive litter bug. She understood his lack of words; like herself, Jared didn't like being told what to do. Rita relaxed in her seat, resignedly waiting for him to answer. They knew he would take some time before he replied, just to show he did so without obeying her.

"I heard from Winnie that you and Smith were locked in the girl's bathroom for ten minutes."

"You heard right," she told him succinctly. Jared gradually slowed to an imperceptible halt. Rita took in their surroundings: the crumbled edge of the road, the startling beginning of the forest. Fittingly named, the Almost Dead End was where students, who desired to avoid a night in jail, settled their differences with violence until near death. And, in technical terms, the road was not a dead end; there were many nature trails that would snugly accommodate a car. 

"What'd you talk bout?"

"The progress of cloning. Have you noticed how rabbits rapidly reproduce? We were beginning to think they don't do that all by themselves."  


"Seriously."

"An overpopulation of rabbits is a very serious matter. Think how obese wolves will get with all these animals running around."

"Rita," he warned, voice low. He had said it before, but not like that. Never so…intimate.

"He asked me to the Anniversary Soiree," she answered in one breath, looking down at her hands. Anywhere but those eyes. "I accepted."  


He gave a low whistle and fiddled with his key chains. For a moment, Jared reminded Rita of a disappointed child, whose rosy dreams were rudely annihilated. "I would have preferred you talkin bout rabbit cloning."  


"Why? Were _you_ going to ask me?" she asked jokingly. Trying desperately to lighten the blanket of gloom his expression had created.

"Don't worry, I got plenty others ahead of me," he mused, staring intently out the window. Then, with his usual lack of warning, he asked abruptly, "Just be careful, understand me? Smith has a habit of switching sides every once in a while." Because he looked so earnest, Rita nodded quickly, although she didn't fully comprehend. With every sad emotion conveyed on his adorable face, Rita felt she would have done cartwheels just to make him feel better. 

"Why aren't you talking to Kyros and them?"

"You mean why aren't they talking to me." Jared shrugged, not really knowing the difference. 

"They sent my family away," she sighed, a tinge of sadness creeping into her voice. "On Christmas, Jared, of all holidays. Can you believe it?"

"I don't celebrate it. Aiming for atheism." 

"I can certainly understand that," she said bitterly. "After all this crap God puts me through, I'm seriously pondering whether I should ignore him or not."

"The fact that you want to ignore him says you believe him. That didn't exactly scream atheism. Learn the rules before you join my cult; I am the _only_ god," he grinned.

"But then that's not atheism, if you worship yourself. And it's gonna be sorta hard to disbelieve His existence, but I'll try for you sake. Don't think I'm going to make the next group suicide though," she answered mock pensively.

"Yeah, well, I might hold it off, just for you." The two stared at each other, then smiled over their earnest silliness.

"Goodness, you always find a way to make me forget my problems," she sighed without thinking. "I should buy one of your kind and put it on the refrigerator."

"Yeah," he mumbled, with what Rita could have sworn was bashfulness, "well, you always make me forget what we were talkin' bout. So spill it."  


"I told you," she said, shifting uncomfortably, "he sent away my family. During a time in which America's suicide rate is the highest."

"And who is this 'he'?" Jared queried with interest in the change of pronouns.

"Oh," she smiled sadly, with a bit of shame. A betraying blush crept to her cheeks. "Kyros. I thought he would, you know, understand things…"

"Why? You met him only a few days before."  


"Because he kissed me." The reply popped out before she could stop it. Fearfully, she waited for his reaction. The werewolf merely raised his eyebrows and then faced his window again.

"Lucky bastard," he chuckled softly. Rita heard the sound, but knew his heart was not into it. "But you know what?" he said, taking a brighter tone, "You shouldn't worry about that. After all, your family's gonna be home soon. The point is, you're Amaro's soul mate, and he obviously wants you back."  


"So what?"

"So…use it against him. Find out what makes him tick, then use it, and while he's distracted with you, I'll kill him."  


"I refuse to be an undercover prostitute."

"You want him to die, don't you?" Rita stared at him, for he hadn't said the words with the coldness one would expect a hunter would have. He sounded like a child encouraging a violent game, promising the pain would be worth the pleasure. Unstable eagerness burned in his chocolate eyes.

"That's true," she confessed slowly. "But how will getting him angry keep him from hurting me?"

"Good point," he admitted, scratching his head. Rita sighed, relieved to see the good old confused Jared again. "Maybe you should—" 

He didn't finish. The hand that crashed through the window and around his neck effectively stopped him. 

~*~*~*~

you obviously don't know what the hell is going on." 

Murphy's Laws

Hint: Any time Rita jinxes herself…it's pretty important. Slaps head Well, duh, you've already figured that out!

You've probably guessed whose hand it is. Any who, if anybody's surprised about Bryan Smith, I'm severely disappointed in you. I totally and blatantly foreshadowed it; er, well, maybe I meant to and I forgot. Please don't think this is one of those stupid stories where plain girl over night becomes Cinderella and every body falls madly in love with her. You'll see what I mean later on. And please review, and I'll adore you forever _plus_ a year after that. All opinions welcome. Also little side extra note to Maudlinrose that I hope doesn't make the other reviewers feel like Jan Brady: nothing is supposed to be funny-funny in this chapter, only small moments whenever I could fit them in. I hope it's not too obvious; is it? 


	4. Slightly Disturbing

Author's note: Yeah, I figured none of you would take the whole Adrian situation very well. I mean, none of you even thought about that possibility. Y'all mentioned Jared, Kyros, and even Rik…but not Adrian. I mean, you guys must have read the first couple of lines of the first chapter. Would Kyros really ruin her life? Any way, I've gotten some reviews/emails concerning the possible return of stable boy. And my explanation is this:

I let the books I read influence me (duh.) And I've recently finished reading "Waiting for Godot," by Samuel Beckett—who looked a little insane on the cover, but said some really sensible things. And in that play, for those who haven't read it, Godot doesn't show up. The idea of somebody, who's totally and completely absent, having that much power to the plot really appealed to me. I mean, Godot doesn't show up for one millisecond, but they named the play after him! So, if you're still reading and you still don't get it, the stable boy and Adrian's extramarital person are like Godot. Absent, but still effective. Whether they, or their situations, _stay_ absent is yet to be seen.

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Tjones: Thank ya much for the review. Incredibly happy to learn that you're enjoying this fic…not sure I'd say the same thing if I wasn't the author. All the twists…yeah, well, there hasn't been many yet, but hopefully you'll keep on keepin' on. 

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Skylark: Hello! Thanks for reading. Also, thanks for the succinct but very encouraging…encouragement. Doh! Why can't I ever get phrasing right? But I meant it, really I did, even if I screw up on words. 

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Littlemissgiggles: SORRY!! I know cliffhangers are the meanest things, but it just seemed like a nice way to end the chapter. Rita's attitude changes a bit because she's on familiar territory. Of course she'd be a bit awkward and intimidated by Quinn, Rashel, Winnie, and Kyros herding her around. But, as it stated, she has a lot of control at Anomina High and was pretty much fed up with the way everybody's been treating her. Seniors who don't appreciate her work, inconsiderate Daybreakers, the supernatural in general (except for Jared, of course). I'm all extra nervous because everybody's saying that the last chapter was their fave. How are all the other chapters going to live up to that? I'm pretty sure life threatening…er, well, threats (terrible phrasing, I realize that) are against ff net rules, but I won't report you! :0) 

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Lil'ol'me: Oh god, school is AWFUL. Try and avoid it the best you can. Run if you must! My original plan was to drop out and sail up and down the Mississippi selling home made crafts, but then I wouldn't be able to update. If suddenly, the chapters stop being updated, simply conclude that my classes have given me a heart attack. You probably know that Kyros is a good guy (I mean, he is a Daybreaker and all) and any inconsiderate actions are completely unintentional on his part. Like I said before, he doesn't _think_ things out. I'm glad you like Bryan, I was afraid nobody would after meeting Kyros, Jared, and Rik. And, concerning who she ends up with…yeah, well, the thing you've gotta remember is that, with family outta town, Rita's first priority is herself (school, and _then_ friends). Not too promising, is it? But, well…argh, I just can't explain without giving things away!! Thanks for the review! I'm flattered this is one of your faves.

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Maudlinrose: Sigh. It was bound to happen, and completely unavoidable. Yup, I'm talking about the sarcasm in the piece. I've written like that before, hideously caustic in school articles and stuff. So, when I wrote this, I was trying avoid it; to, you know, try something new. But damn! I honestly can't help it, Maudlinrose, I really can't. You know how bad my strain of sarcasm is? I've made little kids _cry_. Just shows what a bad idea it is to _force_ a sarcastic sixteen year old to work on the kids' after school programs. Not on purpose you know, it's just that these mean remarks/observations just fly outta my mouth and well… So, well, if you must know, all the sarcastic things are unintentional. But hey, if they make you snicker, I guess it works out okay. Any who, I think I've fixed that problem about tautology or what not. Key word being "think." Hey, I'm bad in English too. There's something very wrong with the school systems if kids who spoke English from day one do better in foreign language than ENGLISH class. I'm going to reform that someday. No wait, you could because you're in politics and reforms and stuff…I babble. Thanks for reviewing!

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Aife Bisclaravet: I know, I know…everybody's just so disappointed that Adrian's the soul mate. I mean, come on. _You_ had a bad guy be the soul mate! You can't blame me for doing this…even if he is greatly less appealing than Diablo. Besides, if I had Jared be the soul mate, the story would only have four chapters. I was strongly tempted for the werewolf to be her soul mate, though…also a bit of a romantic myself. But we couldn't have that short a story, now, could we? Thanks!

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Martha: Everybody feels that way. I guess I did a good job of making him a bad guy. Don't worry. Like I said before, everything will solve itself in the end. Gracias amiga. 

Vague Verity

Chapter 4

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"Never knock on death's door—

~*~*~*~

"There's no way all of us can fit in here," Winnie whined. She refused to budge as the others piled in.

Rashel was in no mood to deal with childish complaints from anybody, no matter how dear the friend. "Maybe if you moved your fat ass, Fayth's skinny one could squeeze in." Normally, school had no effect on her concentration of the mission. But the teachers and principal of Anomina High gave her a headache that only an ocean of aspirin would have cured.

Rik laughed as both blondes gasped, insulted to the highest degree. If there was any thing he had learned in his hundred years, it was that women were surprisingly sensitive about their rears, big, or small.

"Dammit, would you just get in already? Quinn, get in the trunk," Kyros ordered, fidgeting impatiently in the driver's seat.

"Why the hell do I have to listen to you, Vulpix?" Instead of responding to the barb, Kyros was silently surprised by the vampire's knowledge of Pokemon.

"Because," he answered in an exaggeratedly patient tone, "being a vampire, you don't need to breathe. 'Sides, I'm sure Fayth wouldn't fit if I told her to move back."

"What the hell makes you think I would?" The girl spoke, apparently flustered by the proximity of her room mate. Rik, on the other hand, enjoyed it immensely, a shameless smile resting on his lips. After whiny Winnie's further negative comments, his crush was nearly sitting on his lap.

Kyros finally left the school, disgraced at the sight of his beloved sports car turned into a clown's getaway vehicle. They had only progressed five miles before one girl ordered him to pull over. That same angrily embarrassed girl climbed out and slammed the door so hard the entire car shook. 

"Fayth, get back in the car," Quinn demanded calmly, sounding very much like a police man talking to a jumper. 

"I will not. That…slob," she sputtered angrily, pointing to Rik, "touched my butt."

"He managed to find such a little thing?" Winnie asked with fallacious surprise, examining her nails. All ignored her.

"Listen, you're on my lap," Rik said defensively, but failed to hide his delight. "I can't help but touch your butt. I thought you'd be glad I steadied you on a bumpy road."  


"This is a new road, Rik, there are no damn bumps!" It was then decided that Fayth and Rashel would walk home, leaving plenty of room for Winnie's "fat ass." Kyros sped past them, annoyed for the delay. He had heard disturbing rumors earlier, and he had every intention of grilling a certain green eyed girl about them.

Rik motioned him to slow down. "Hear that?"

All four listened to the chilly silence. Winnie heard nothing save the faint whirs of car wheels and bird calls. She saw Quinn tense, and, without explanation, Kyros spun the car and sped the opposite direction.

"What is it? What?" Winnie demanded frantically. She broken three nails in the hair pin turn, but failed to notice. Nobody bothered to answer. Rik gave directions in a detached, mechanical manner only Jared had ever seen.

"There are two guys fighting," Winnie remarked softly, as if it was a mere distraction from the main task. "There are two guys fighting at the end of this road. It's none of our business, Rik," Winnie insisted.

"It's Jared," he responded shortly. "And that's Rita, over there." Kyros silently stopped the car twenty feet away. 

Rita leaned on the Yota, momentarily unable to support herself. Here, not even five feet away from her, Adrian and Jared were once again in combat. And, once again, he was winning. Rita's wide evergreen eyes turned to the new spectators, her expression wordlessly imploring them to stop it. But Rik, supposedly Jared's best friend, gestured for them to stop any offensive tactics.

__

It's Jared's fight, Rita heard in her mind. Green flames darted to him, furious at his refusal to help. It barely qualified as a "fight"; more like a ruthless beating.

Jared tried a high kick, effortlessly balancing on one foot to have the other connect with Amaro's face. He did not anticipate Adrian catching it. His opponent twisted it the other direction, for the satisfaction of seeing the werewolf grimace at the torsion of muscles. Before he fell to the ground, Jared spun horizontally, mid air, and succeeded in knocking Amaro back a few feet. As Amaro neared again, Jared's feet swept underneath him, causing her soul mate to collapse beside him.

Déjà vu swept over Rita. Irrationally, her eyes scanned the ground surrounding the combatants, making sure no injuring rocks were available.

For a split second, icy blue eyes were parallel to a mahogany pair. Then Adrian reached back and punched Jared in the nose. Rita noticed with disgust that Amaro did not simply get up; the man had to flip backwards before dusting his clothes. Show off.

And Jared slowly rose from the dirt, obviously in pain. Before his blood could dry, Amaro bent down and charged at him; the same idiotic tactic Jared attempted when they first met. Except this time with success. Luna seemingly flew twenty feet, landing with a resounding thud against a tree trunk. A blur that Rita guessed was Adrian Amaro sped to him. With one hand, Amaro carried Jared far above the ground.

Rita couldn't help admiring Jared's verve as the werewolf tiredly kicked at her soul mate's chest. He even bit at his hand, and nearly amputated Amaro's arm at the elbow with his claws. But nothing worked. Adrian easily threw him to the road ditch, and soon followed. Rita moved closer to see exactly what her soul mate planned to do.

Adrian was kicking him. The same way Jared kicked him at the party. Except, this time, his foot aimed at the head. It was all Jared could do to uselessly bat the blows with bloody hands.

Furious, Rita whirled away and marched to his "friend." Each step hurt; knowing she was moving farther away from Jared and the monster. "What are you standing there for?!" she inveighed to the Daybreakers. "Help him!" Now, of all times, they decided to come closer.

"If I help Jared now, he'll wish he was dead. I know him, Rita, he hates help," Rik retorted, agitated. He refused to move his eyes towards the gruesome sight. Rita glanced at the others, who either coldly met her gaze or shamefully turned away.

"He's not a Daybreaker," Quinn stated brusquely. As if it were a good reason.

"No, but he's a friend," Rita returned. The men did not budge, seemingly fascinated by the mechanics of combat, and only Winnie looking around in desperation.

"I need to know what Ian is, Rita, before I could hurt him…" That seemed to be the gist of the reason. None of them knew what Amaro was, so offensive tactics were impossibly elusive.

By this time, Rita had turned away, determinedly sprinting towards the car. She had no time to listen to excuses; her friend was possibly dying. All she needed now was a weapon. Ignoring the crunches that was obviously not twigs under Jared's body, Rita scrambled inside the Yota, searching desperately for a weapon, be it a knife or a drinking straw. She thanked God when her hand stumbled upon a knife, for a straw wouldn't have inflicted much damage.

Shock paralyzed through her entire body when she turned around. Amaro stood a few feet from her, dragging Jared by the collar. He stopped when he saw he had Rita's full attention.

"What are you going to do?" he asked calmly, eyes falling to the rusty pocket knife in her hands. Her slender fingers were trembling so violently she thought it would slip to the ground. "It's tiny and dull, stupid," he pointed out maliciously. "With that little thing, you can't even put the mutt out of his misery." He shook Jared as if he weighed nothing at all.

She did not answer. Her mind produced nothing witty or helpful to the situation.

"Here, I'll make it easier," Amaro said, and stepped closer to her. "Go ahead and throw it," he invited. "It will make you feel better."

Anger bubbled up in her, an energetic wave that made her vision red and clear at the same time. Of course a little blade could hurt neither of them. It would only hurt a human.

"You monster," she said softly, her eyes shining with hatred. With startling ease, she tossed the blade so that the sharp end faced her. Before he could move, she moved the point to her heart; her hand poised to stab herself if necessary.

"Let him go," she demanded, pronouncing each word clearly. Distantly, she thought she heard Kyros swear and Rik scream an obscenity. No matter. If they refused to help Jared, then she was going to do it herself. 

"You wouldn't dare," Amaro stated arrogantly. But, to Rita's keen eyes, he was perceptibly shaken by her resolve. "You're too afraid of God to commit suicide."  


Rita's smile froze. She had forgotten all about Him. She caught sight of blood dripping from Jared's nose and she shrugged indifferently. Rita was sure He'd understand; this was, of course, a purely unselfish suicide. "If you don't let him go," she threatened sweetly, "then I'll show you how unafraid I am."

She almost laughed when Adrian tensed, looking ready to either explode or attack her. Then, with forced blandness, he smiled back. "Go ahead. You're nothing but a pest to me."  


Her heart skipped a beat. "Oh, you say that to all the girls," she parried coolly, insides stinging at his comment. Some part of her mind insisted it was true. The other part raked for another argument, to keep him from totally destroying her new friend. He had no metal weapon, but that certainly wouldn't have kept him from ripping the werewolf's head off. Even as she scrambled for more words, Amaro began dragging Jared away, disappointed that his soul mate had no other threat.

"Then I win," she called, barely louder than a whisper. Amaro stilled and turned to her with narrowed eyes. "I win again," she said louder. Rita was delighted with her new discovery. Formerly, she believed Adrian Amaro only cared about himself. Now she realized the only love of his life was victory. 

"You win nothing," he corrected, but half heartedly.

"I win everything," she returned with a little laugh. "You see, it's just as before. You fought…" Darn, what was his name? "…him to win me back. Now, you fight with Jared to make sure nothing taints your prize. But what if I kill your trophy, Adrian? What then?" She waited patiently for an answer. It never came, for all her adversary did was stare at her contemptibly. "Then you have battled for nothing," she answered for him.

Tired of his silence, Rita did the unexpected. She braced herself and the quickly sliced at her wrist. "That is the beginning," she warned him, ignoring the pain. And despite her impassive appearance, there was _plenty_ of pain. _Winnie better get her hocus pocus ready_, she thought distantly. "You let go of him or I'll move to my neck."

"Gitana," he whispered hoarsely, clearly furious with her action. He eyed her self inflicted wound as if it was the most unholy thing on earth. 

"Dear husband," she said, drawing herself to full height. "Either leave or cause your soul mate's death once more." Jared looked at her, eyes begging her to stop. Beads of blood dripped from her wrist to the ground, wetting the blades of grass. Slowly at first, and then at an alarmingly fast rate. Red warm life spilling onto the frozen barren land.

Blazing red on faded green, Rita noticed with a fleeting smile. Christmas colors. When she looked to Jared to see if he noticed it too, she learned that he had collapsed on the ground. Amaro was nowhere in sight. The wind swayed all branches, making it impossible to single out which path he had taken.

Rita was vaguely aware Winnie had taken her injured hand as she watched Rik and Quinn carry her friend to the car. When the witch let go, she found her wrist smooth and unmarred. All her numb mind allowed her to do was smile in thanks.

"You do realize he might be pissed off at you, don't you?" Rik asked her as they laid the werewolf on the Yota's hood. Already, Jared's wounds were closing.

"I don't care," she replied, tentatively brushing the hair away from his face. "As long as he's alive to be pissed off…it's all that matters." Her hand kept Winnie's healing magic at bay. "He's already getting better; don't waste your time."

The witch opened her mouth to protest when Jared stirred. Rita immediately held his hand, squeezing it to the point of pain, hoping the sensation would draw him out of unconsciousness. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and Jared returned the firm grip.

"You," he croaked, "You," he repeated again, this time stronger. With one movement he sat up, batting away any hands offering succor, except for Rita's. "Bitch."

Now, Verity considered herself a relatively tolerant person. She had withstood her classmates, her teachers, and the inconsiderate treatment of the Daybreakers. But she could not and would not, under any circumstances, tolerate that. Even if it was the half-dead Jared Luna.

Rita slapped him before she could help herself. "_Well!_ That's the thanks I get for saving your life!?" she yelled, not caring if the werewolf was still enfeebled. "I didn't see your friends doing anything!"

Rubbing his cheek, Jared hollered in response, the profanity making even New Yorker Kyros step back in surprise. Disgusted by the lack of gratitude, Rita spun on her heel and walked away. After two steps, Rita only had a few seconds to register the arm around her waist before she was trapped in a bruising bear hug.

"I really am happy you helped," Jared murmured. He had twisted her so she could hug back, which she didn't. In fact, her arms were busy trying to push away from him, because it was terribly embarrassing. Then his hands, inadvertently, she was sure, slipped below her waist…

It took some kicking and shoving to escape the suffocation. A menacing flame appeared in her green eyes, warning that her patience had long drained away. In some part of her mind, a part she never paid attention to, Rita knew Jared had done so by habit or accident, without fully thinking of her response. The male mind had violence and sex wired closely together. Jared couldn't have helped it; but Verity decided to ignore the scientific explanation. 

"Hey, I did it because it was my thanks for saving my ass," Jared countered, arms up in surrender. 

"So you think touching _mine_ will show your gratitude?" Because of its earlier success, Rita slapped Jared again, this time the opposite cheek. His head snapped back, and she heard Kyros laugh. Why on earth was _he_ laughing?

"You did the same thing," she warned, meaning his uninvited kiss. "I see no reason for not hitting you." Perhaps it was the disturbing light in her eyes, or the shaking anger in her voice. But, for whatever reason, Rik saw it fit to hold her from behind, with arms safely pinned to her sides. It was then that they learned that the Yota had slipped into a coma.

Winnie, amused, climbed into Kyros' car. Quinn slid in beside her, knowing very well another argument would erupt if Jared assumed the seat. Next came Rita. When the werewolf took the seat in front of him, Jared refused to turn around to speak to any of them, lest his eyes met indignant green ones.

"Great. Now where am I going to sit?" Kyros asked when he saw Rik occupying the driver's seat.

"Are you totally opposed by the trunk?" Quinn suggested with a cold smile. Kyros whipped out a cigarette and stepped away from the car.

"Ha. Ha. I'll wait here for the tow truck, and I'll get a ride from whoever. Just take care of my-"

He never got to finish. Rik squealed the tires to drown out the rest of his sentence, leaving behind Kyros shrouded in a dust cloud.

"Now," Quinn said, as if the entire incident was a daily occurrence, "what's this business of soul mates that I hear?"

Rita closed her eyes, wishing she could shut away the world. Especially the supernatural part of it. A nap was all she needed. Peace until she reached her house.

~*~*~*~

__

Prior Past  


"And where were you last evening?" he asked Gitana as she coldly brushed past him, leaving the dining hall. When she raised her chin and defiantly did not answer, he grabbed her arm and forced her to face him.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, meeting his chilling gaze. Adrian regarded her with a lip curled in disgust before releasing her. When he turned his back to her, Gitana rubbed her arm, predicting another unintentional bruise.

"Didn't the servants tell you?" he sneered disdainfully as he moved away. Towards the main entrance. Is he leaving again?

"No, Adrian. No, they didn't," she said again, this time pulling him back to face her. Lately, their relationship had grown more physical, and not in the romantic sense. When Rita saw his apathetic expression, she wished she had let him strode off. But there was no use in letting him see that. "They didn't tell me, Adrian. Where were you?"

__

"At Senora's Nepthys' dinner banquet, of course. You, after all, were the one who told me about it." Gitana couldn't repress the pained look in her eyes.

"But…you told me you couldn't go."  


"Wrong," he contradicted, with an unreasonably cruel smile. "I said I couldn't go with you. I had the distinct feeling that it would be more enjoyable if I went alone." Gitana's breath caught in her throat, and when she looked back at her husband, she saw his heart breaking smirk through tears. She turned away, hoping the crystal drops would not fall in his view.

Leave then, she thought to him. I don't care if you walk off the ends of the earth.

Just as she reached the main stair case, she heard, And where were you? I've answered your question, answer mine. He felt utterly earnest, losing all malice and mockery. Now, he felt grim and threatening. Refusing to show how much his words stabbed at her heart, she drew herself to full height and turned to him with a cold smile.

"Riding, husband dear. The new stable boy has been giving me lessons."

I bet he has, _she heard faintly, and knew immediately she was not supposed to pick that thought up. Gitana didn't dare show she had; her husband had been violently protective of his thoughts from day one. And he had underestimated her ability to sense them. Adrian underestimated everything about his wife._

"Riding?" he scoffed, coming closer. Much to her dismay, Gitana learned the closer he came, the weaker her will became. "At midnight?"

"I had been home all day. And every time I pester you to go out with me, you tell me to see your precious horses. So I did, and received some exercise at the same time."  


"Exercise," he echoed, eyebrows drawing together. Gitana could see his anger rising, and acted quickly to dam it.

"Quiero, no," she assured him swiftly, hands moving to caress his face. On her tip toes, she tilted her head far back to smile at him. "No, not like that. Riding the horses, I mean." Gitana ran her hands through his hair, massaging his temples. "You know I don't speak like…" she was going to say "you," but instead let it trail off. The fury had been quenched, but his eyes remained cold on her face. She simply smiled, knowing she was wearing the barrier down. Her husband could never resist her when she truly tried her best.

__

"Stay with me," she pleaded, hands still stroking his face. Adrian closed his eyes briefly before breaking away from her, so abruptly she stumbled against a pillar.

"I can't," he said flatly, and again strolled to the main entrance. "I'm going to Senora Nepthys' for…breakfast. We decided upon it last night." It was a boldfaced lie; Adrian Amaro never ate breakfast.

"Senora Nepthys," she repeated angrily, walking fast to catch up with him. "Is she your wife then? Will she bear your children?"

"No," he snarled, whirling to her. "And neither will you."

"You promised me, Adrian, the day we were married that you would give me a son, and then a daughter, and then a-"  


__

At first, she didn't fully understand what made her cheek burn, or what force had thrown her against the door. Gitana didn't understand what, or who, made her cry. She couldn't fathom what could have harmed her, after all her husband was standing right there…

When she looked up, she saw nothing but an open door, harsh sunlight pouring through the opening. Now, out of the sight of her husband and the servants, Gitana buried her head in her hands and wept. She unabashedly let forth loud, reverberating sobs and a flood of tears. Adrian wasn't around to taunt her for it.

~*~*~*~

"Would you like anything to drink?" Uninvited guests they might be, but Rita refused to ignore the rules of host decorum.

"I'm guessin' you don't have any alcohol?" Kyros asked tiredly, lounging on the couch. The shape shifter had arrived just thirty minutes after them. Seeing as his long legs occupied all three cushions, Winnie and Jared were forced to sit on the coffee table.

Quinn was outside, presumably calling Rashel.

"Sorry, my mother and I have an inexplicable aversion to drunks pissing on themselves in the house," she answered curtly, but still with the plastic cheerful smile. From the piano bench, Rik glanced at her sharply, as did the witch, the werewolf, and the fox, for her choice of words.

"I guess finding your soul mate can affect you strangely," Winnie murmured, twirling the ends of her hair with perfectly manicured fingers. Rita glared at her. _How would she know?_

"And I would have bet my life the stable boy was her soul mate," Kyros sighed, examining a bowl of potpourri. "You paid four bucks for this? I could have made one out of all the things in your back yard."  


"Tell someone who cares," Rita snapped, suddenly frustrated. And to think she wanted some excitement in her despondent life. Now all she wanted was to be left alone. Unfortunately, the fox shifter didn't take the hint.

"I mean, I just don't understand the point in potpourri. Is it to cover up the house smells? And, what exactly do you cook that needs to be covered up by a bunch of dried petals? But, you gotta ask yourself, is it really the petals that give off the smell, or do the factory people just spray them? Because, if that's all it is, you don't even need the petals and crap, just some smell good spray…"  


"How do your wards work, exactly?" Rita asked, extremely unwilling to listen the boy any more. Winnie smiled, seeing how highly insulted Kyros was.

"Anybody who's already been in your house is allowed to get in. Anybody who hasn't, like Amaro, can't. Unless you invite them in, of course. They also stop harmful spells and such."

Quinn walked through the backyard door, abruptly snapping the building tension. He found a moody fox shifter, and equally moody witch, and a human trying like hell to get the drowsy werewolf off the coffee table. The lamia on piano bench seemed oblivious to the unhappiness around him.

"You can all leave now," she ordered icily. "There was no point in coming with me in the first place." 

Jared's eyebrows arose. The werewolf looked as if he had never entered a tussle. "Um hello? We drove you home." Rita shrugged as she unlocked the front door.

"I would have walked." _Heck, if I could cut my own wrist, I'm certain I can face walking home alone. _And walking to anywhere in Anomina usually took thirty minutes.

"Maybe one of us should stay," Kyros suggested as they rose to leave. He gave a quick dazzling smile to Rita when the others did not see. "To, ya know, protect you."

"I can't depend on stronger people forever," Rita replied smoothly, not at all affected by his suggestive tone. _This one cannot be trusted_, she calculated. If one could not be trusted, then the less of his presence, the better. Something Gitana should have learned long before she met Amaro. "You better go. I have homework."

"It's the first day of the semester," Rik pointed out, leaning on the door way. He and Kyros were the only two still in her home, the others waiting rather impatiently in the car. "Nobody gives homework. It's the rule."

"I have to figure out the budget of the AS since the drama club has demanded more money for the sets. Plus I have to make the outline for tomorrow's student council meeting." And such fabrications were needed to get what she wanted; Rita learned such when the vampire nodded gullibly and sauntered away, practically dragging the pouting fox shifter with him. 

"If only _she_ had lied whenever he interrogated her," Rita reasoned as she accompanied Dog to the library. The cat's black eyes stared up at her, as she settled into the love seat and turned on the radio. As if he cared about what she said. Considering the recent events, she wouldn't have been surprised if her pet had alien telepathic abilities and antennas sticking out of his belly.

"Then he wouldn't have had any reason to hurt her. No ammunition, understand?" Dog nestled atop her stomach, now disinterested in her musings. "She's not at fault, of course. But one must be of tougher cloth to make it in the world, especially against all the Adrian Amaros out there."

Rita brushed through the pages of the book flippantly. Normally, she skipped the introductions and headed straight for the climax of the story. But now…it all seemed so useless. Novels were her escape from the prison sentence, some forbidden excitement in her life. Then Circle Daybreak, the Night World, and even a soul mate for goodness' sake had to go and stir up trouble. She was knee deep in the ferment and about to sink lower. The last thing she needed was more excitement, and with that thought, she closed the book and tossed it onto the desk. Absently, she stroked the Dog's slim belly, smiling as she heard the cat purr. At least somebody appreciated her, even if it was just a normal animal.

Spanish music thrummed softly from her humble radio. She understood only half the words, despite her lineage. Which was why Adrian Amaro's casual "querida" comments always peeved her. It wasn't fun being called something she didn't fully comprehend. Her strokes on the feline torpidly halted as the soft foreign words lulled her to sleep. Miffed, Dog hissed at something in the hallway, most likely a reflection or sun beam, and scampered out the room. Rita sighed, finally reaching a peaceful haven to relax. 

But, of course, rude concerned thoughts burst in her mind. She had her outline to do. She had pesky Daybreak agents. She had a sister and a mother to check on in Boston. She had to do the laundry, dishes, and not to mention go out for groceries. And, the horror of all horrors, a soul mate to deal with.

"And worst of all I can't lie to him," she complained aloud.

"I consider that a good thing." When her senses set in, Rita scrambled into a sitting position and gazed frantically at the speaker.

"You," she said accusingly, pointing a finger at him. 

"Me?" He asked, looking behind him innocently to see if anybody else was addressed.

"You are not supposed to be here. Winnie set wards against you." Amaro smiled, and sat in the pink chair. _Her _overstuffed over sized pink chair. Already he was walking around, or rather, sitting around like he owned the place.

"Well," she said, timid of the silence, "why did you come here?"

Before he answered, he drew her to him and studied her. Rita did not resist, knowing very well that, comparatively, she had little more strength than that of a toddler. She suddenly felt like a new student being appraised by the principal. Except for the fact that principals like her. With his hand, gloved thankfully, he raised her left wrist to eye level. Pleased with the lack of scars, he allowed her to step back, and she crossed her arms protectively. 

"At least they're good for something. I came here to discuss what we're going to do about this."

Rita was clearly perplexed. "This being…?"

He sighed impatiently, wringing his hands as if they were around her neck. "You never could catch on quickly. This, us, our relationship." 

Rita's brows furrowed. _What am I, another business deal? Call a staff meeting, we have a soul mate situation here…_

"We have no relationship," she pointed out. "Is that why you came to An? Because you knew I was here?"  


"Don't flatter yourself," he rebuked. "I'm here on business. It was by sheer coincidence that you were here."

"Don't think I was just sitting around waiting for you to come," she snapped, irritated by his patronizing tones. Circle Daybreak popped into her mind from out of the blue. Deciding to be generous, Rita attempted to pry on his business. "But what could be going on in Anomina that I don't know about? I'm president for goodness' sake," she sighed in false disappointment falling artfully into the love seat. "I'm supposed to know all the social activities to put on the bulletin boards," she lamented.

__

And they say I can't lie, she thought slyly, as Adrian threw her an indulgent smile_. Probably pitying my position in life._ "Well, you do know about it. Actually very involved," he allowed. Inwardly, Rita winced at his timbre. Like some husband thoughtlessly saying whatever to calm his nagging wife.

"Do not," she corrected, using a petulant voice from child hood. "I've just learned about all this. How could I possibly figure out what your people do for fun?" 

"I'll give you a hint," he murmured. _Goodness gracious, what am I, a child?_

"Well?"

"But only if you swear to God you won't tell your…acquaintances."  


"I don't swear to God," she stated firmly. 

"Swear to me then."

"But you're nothing to me." _Oh well crap_, she thought hopelessly and cursed her disobedient tongue. Perhaps there was a surgeon somewhere who could let her mind connect to her mouth, effectively stopping her verbal diarrhea. _There goes the whole trying to get information plan. _

"Then I won't tell you."

"Fine then," she said coldly. "Leave."

Instead of standing, he leaned back against her chair, stretching comfortably. "What's yours is mine and what's yours is mine. Your home, for example"

"Isn't there supposed to be a 'what's mine is yours'?"  


"Glad for the offer, querida," he grinned. Rita's mouth dropped open in surprise, hating his trick. And there was that "querida" business again. 

__

He is a static character, she decided in the same manner she analyzed Kyros. No depth, no inner conflicting thoughts. Just a hopelessly bad, bad, very bad guy. _That's it_ she realized. There was nothing to _do_ about a soul mate, other than to let him sit around to be defeated.

Abruptly, he let out a laugh, as pernicious as sleek magma. Only it did not warm his face; contrarily, Adrian only grew colder, his eyes icing over with the sound. "You're trying to analyze me…and it's taking quite a while. Come now, Tana, even I know that you are not that slow."

"Why are you here?" she asked softly, emerald eyes holding nothing but gentle confusion. At once, Amaro found the situation familiar and smiled again, knowing exactly what to do. 

But, contrasting their marriage, she did not wait for his haughty answer. Still with the puzzled eyes, yet mysteriously glowing anew, she persisted, "Why did you come to my home simply to taunt me and invade my privacy? Aren't you angry with me? Three times I've rejected you, and yet you pursue. What do I have that you need?" Amaro solved the mystery as to what was in her eyes; suspicion. 

"It's simple really. My other half."

"It is impossible to be a half to somebody who has nothing inside him," she said quietly, primly seating herself on the love seat, as far as possible from him, ere he lost his reins on anger.

"Oh, Tana," he scoffed, "you said that in an emotional tantrum. How could I be empty if your soul is connected to mine?" He dismissed her words like a pesky fly. 

"Needless to say, I would like you to leave. You may have been my husband at one time, but Gitana Benevita and Verity Glisscielle are entirely two different people. Yes, I have her soul, but I put a back bone in it." 

His expression did not waver, but Rita spied the tensing of the muscles around his mouth. Ha! Adrian Amaro clenching his jaw over _her_ hurtful words, biting back a comment. This was certainly pleasantly new. Only seconds had passed after she spoke the words, but they were a few seconds too many. Rita picked up the phone and daintily made a call, ignoring Adrian Amaro's intimidating stare.

Daybreakers were useless. She knew that now; every time she confronted this heinous monster, nobody except Jared had been there to help her. Of course, it would have been selfish to summon Jared again.

When the rings were answered, Rita lowered her tone to a theatrical whisper. All the while coolly meeting Adrian's frown with a disdainful smirk. "Hello? Bryan? This is Rita…yes, yes, whatever you want. I have a stranger in my house, I don't know how he got in…I'm in my room right now…does it matter? Please come, I'm afraid he'll find me." A victorious flame blazed in her eyes as she hung up. Furthering her entertainment, Amaro was now openly incensed.

"_Idiot_! Do you think this Bryan can fight me? That this pitiful boy will forcefully throw me out?"

"He is a vampire," Rita informed him, with as much arrogance as he had. Her heart stilled when she saw his lips slowly curve into a smile.

"A vampire? Is that all?"

Rita's confident expression instantly transformed into one of open worry. She didn't like the idea of fighting at all, much less in her home. Rita had hoped Bryan's species would just intimidate him enough to make him run away, because Bryan had told her he was lamia. Granted, she had no idea what lamia was, but still, it sounded impressive. Now her soul mate told her Smith was nothing more than an inconsequential pest.

Crap. Now, of all times, her mind decided to give her a flash back. 

~*~*~*~

__

Prior Past

He had to convince her to return home. As tempting as she appeared in her form fitting scarlet gown, and moist pink lips shyly asking to be kissed, there was no excuse for her being alone in the stables with another man. But she looked so dainty and desperate for comfort… Desperately, he racked his mind for smooth comments and persuasive arguments as Senora Amaro studied him apprehensively aloft her straw throne. Unfortunately, he lacked all the suave skills of her husband.

"He was so…calm," she continued brokenly. "I know him, he does not act on his feelings. He thinks of the consequences of his actions. You know that, and I know that. Adrian knew how much it would hurt me, but he did it any way. And all because he didn't like what I talked about."

Gitana sighed in relief when he did not say it was a husband's right. Instead he said, "Well…you can't stay here forever. There's only enough room for me and the horses."

Much to her own surprise, Gitana smiled. But as soon as it lit her face, another thought darkened her features. "But I can't go back. I hate him," she whispered violently. "I hate him as much as I love him. I don't know how that's possible, but I do." If he were of lesser strength, Jorge would have cried himself when Gitana lifted her teary intense eyes to his own. He almost saw the crumbling fortitude, revealing the hopelessness beneath amidst the despondent embers. 

He wanted to save it. He remembered that bewilderment, around thirteen or fourteen. When you had to stop pretending and playing with those silly little dreams, because someone was going to crush you when you slept. It hurt to grow up, and Senora Amaro hadn't done that yet. 

"But…you do love him," he said gently. Although his heart ached for the delicate innocent, Jorge reluctantly refused to speak against his master. "And he loves you."

"Oh," she sniffled, dismissing his words with a wave of her hand, "no he doesn't. He believes I'm stupid and silly. If he thinks of me at all once a day, it's most likely because he regrets ever marrying me."

"You're a terrible liar. Of course he loves you. Senor Amaro said years ago he would never marry, because marriage was nothing but a tortuous trap laid out by…sly women." His master had actually said whores, but such words were not pleasant at the moment. "Why would he, a confirmed bachelor, marry you if he didn't love you?" She stared at him, and realized he would never fully understand.

"You're right," she lied, and struggled to maintain the artificial grin. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

With unseeing eyes, Gitana ambled through the hills and gardens that surrounded her home. If a man as kind as Jorge couldn't understand, she guessed none of her maids would comprehend. Troubled and confused, she settled on a marble bench, and watched the lonely sunset through a watery film. Before, she had her dance and music. They were her friends, they embraced her without judgment, and she called upon them without hesitation. 

But Amaro had disallowed such indulgences. He called them unnecessary and undignified and disgraceful for the wife of any Amaro. In other words, she was a whore.

"Heavens," she said quietly to the surrounding flowers. "I never thought being married would be like this." The sun sunk below the horizon, making Gitana wish with all her heart she could accompany it on its magnificent journey. How lucky it was, to be able to leave, or hide behind the clouds. Like the fiery sphere, Gitana rose every day without any expectation of thanks or appreciation. Wanting attention or gratitude, but never receiving it. The sun would always be there for the earth, and Gitana would always be there for her husband.

__

Unable to uphold the dam of sadness, Gitana let out a shamed sob. She tried to restrain them, fearing somebody would come and frown upon her behavior, but the thought of Adrian's harsh words caused another. Many soon followed, bringing with them bitter hot tears. Her body convulsed with emotional pain. She thought the release would ease the ache in her chest, but the dull pain only grew. Night crept upon her, and the moon shone his unsympathetic face. A chilling wind swept ruffled her carefully kept hair. Gitana didn't care. Deep down, she hoped she died of the cold. She wished Adrian would find her frigid corpse and weep with irrevocable guilt. The only flaw of that fantasy was she would not be able to see his regret.

"Gitana." Wonderful. He was here. He would see her crying and then scold her on her lack of discretion. She turned away from the voice, and shifted so that her back faced it. A hand, almost as cold as the night around them, gently pressed against her back. She shuddered, hating her body's treasonous response to his touch. Gitana snapped her head up, seeing everything in silver and shadow. That cruel hand eased its way to her neck, lovingly massaging her with something deceptively called love. Without thinking, Gitana leaned back. Another, muscled, hard body cushioned hers as an arm around her waist drew her closer.

"About this morning," he finally said after clearing his throat. "I was in a bit of a rush… It was just bad timing…"  


Say it, _she pleaded silently._ Say you're sorry for once in your life.

But he did not hear her. If he had, she knew he would have pushed her away in contempt. Instead, he gently placed a bouquet of red roses in her lap and kissed her cheek. 

It's an apologetic gesture, _she reasoned. As if afraid of a bite, her fingers delicately gathered the_ _thornless stems._ It shows that he's sorry, _she thought half heartedly. But she couldn't deny the fact that he didn't say it. That he was too proud, even to his soul mate, to say that one word. And that he would never, ever apologize._

__

The drugging kisses were relentless, and did not wait for her response until he had kissed the corner of her mouth. She imagined to a passerby they were the quintessence of young lovers. No one would have guessed her heart slowly broke with each passing second. He would not admit wrong, he would not ask forgiveness. How many times had she begged forgiveness for clumsy mistakes and improper actions? And now, for an action that surpassed all her crimes combined, he would not say sorry. 

This is your soul mate, _her mind…or was it her heart, argued indefatigably._ There is no other man to complete you. _Gitana brushed the thought away, with every intention of breaking away and demanding an apology. She didn't give a damn if he threw her out. But another, the voice of reason, resolutely told her she had no place to go._

Cheeks still wet with tears, Gitana turned her husband and bravely returned his kiss. It would be the first of many forgivings. 

~*~*~*~

Rita pinched herself for the fifteenth time. Yup, she was awake. And nope, Amaro was not leaving any time soon. She had hoped it would be one of those disturbing dreams one had a laugh over. It was a comforting possibility.

Amaro had decided to kill time before he killed Bryan—she had rolled her eyes at the corny joke, greatly displeasing him—by "small talk." Rita suspected it was a ruse to draw information, just as she tried. Problem was that he was much better at it.

"I'm going to have to kill this Jared fellow, I suppose," he said as casually as one would lament carrying an umbrella for the weather. Just as he expected, she started, her green eyes flashing with protectiveness.

"Why? He has done nothing to you. Well, at least without provocation."

"If you two have a relationship that is more than platonic, then what choice does a soul mate have?"

"But we're only friends," she exclaimed heatedly, trying for all the world to ensure Jared's safety. The condescension in his tone only made her more passionate to save him.

"Friends," he scoffed, crossing his arms like a sulky school boy. "I suppose you have the same _friendship_ as that Rik and Fayth have."

"Of course not. Jared hasn't known me long enough to develop the unrequited love Rik has for—oh. Oh dear." Rita planted her hands over her mouth, wishing to God she had a stapler. But too late. Adrian already knew the vampire's weakness, and, through observance of Jared's horrified eyes while she wounded herself, the werewolf's as well. "I'm not speaking to you any more," she said through her fingers, her voice muffled. 

"All right," he agreed easily. Much too easily. "We'll talk about Bryan."

"No we won't," she contradicted, her voice barely decipherable. 

"Yes, we will." His rich voice sounded conversational, but Rita felt it told her not to contradict again. "And in detail. Smith is not a common name in their world, most likely inconsequential. What's he to do with you?"  


"My, my aren't you flattering? Why did you enroll in high school?" 

"Answer my question."

"Answer mine," she challenged, losing all rational fear of him. Rita loved the way he tensed when irritated.

"I asked first."

"And I asked second. Why are you worrying about numerical order when you have a question to answer?"

"I've never finished my high school education," he finally replied, shocking her into silence. Rita had fully expected him to continue dodging her assault of queries. He wasn't supposed to answer her after a few seconds. _Gosh darn it_, she thought, concerned, _he's gone and ruined the plan._

"There now. What's this business between you and Bryan Smith?"

"I never said your answer would guarantee mine," Rita replied smartly, deciding to play unfairly. She figured she needed every advantage she could get when Amaro had the urge to manipulate.

"Why you little-"

"If you will please leave…"

__

This isn't so bad, Rita thought to herself as she determinedly marched down the hall. A looming shadow followed, closing the distance between them. All she needed to do was push his buttons, confuse him, and then show him out the door.

She only got as far as unlocking it before his grip on her shoulders forced to turn and face him. Solid blackness forbade her human eyes from discerning his expression. Despite the fact that his face was dangerous inches apart from hers, not a sound reached her ears. Of course he spoke to her…or rather at her. Flinging orders and insults like sticks and stones. A few times he would break into Spanish, and then Italian, and then French, and a variety of other languages she couldn't quite catch. Inwardly, she believed he was either showing off, or switching vocabulary by habit. No matter; she barely registered half his sentences. 

Somewhere after "Nobody has treated me with such disrespect…" and "Apres tout j'ai fait pour toi…" she had voluntarily withdrew her attentions, focusing instead on her inner thoughts. Briefly, she thought she glimpsed twin blue flames before her when she opened her mouth to speak. Then they died the moment she shut her jaws meekly. 

__

Oh dear, if this is criticism, I don't like it. Detached thoughts such as that sped through her mind as his words jabbed at her like spears. _Most likely the reason I try so hard_, she realized during her inner analysis. A mechanical growl shattered into her internal monologues. Finally, realizing she couldn't stand and take the verbal assault all night, Rita wet her lips and sliced through his incessant ranting like a polite dagger.

"Well," she said brightly, deftly unlocking the door behind her, "this has been a very pleasant visit. But please understand that another visit would be most inconvenient. Have a nice night!" Artfully escaping his grip, Rita flung the door open and ran out to join Bryan Smith in his Land Cruiser. 

~*~*~*~

__

Prior Past

__

On a rare occasion, "Sunny Spain" proved to be a misnomer. Thunder and lightning sadistically pummeled the people of Morta Vitez, most likely compensating for their absences. Dark gray clouds formed a cavern around the village. Thus, the isolation, already borne by the merciless desert, grew by the tortuous weather. Heavy rain and silvery veins in the sky kept almost everyone in their homes. And they trapped meek wives with suspicious husbands.

She watched forlornly from the door way, silently fearing the charged atmosphere of the study. She began to think the storm would be haven compared to her husband's presence.

Adrian sat at his marble desk, his expression almost as lifeless as the furniture. "I told you not to go riding any more." It was a statement, one said in a glacial voice. "And yet you did. Why?"

__

Tana remained stationed at the door way, like a stalwart sentinel. "You had told me you would be gone for two weeks," she explained helplessly, feeling that he would find some way to condemn her even if the Inquisitor himself declared her innocent of any wrong doing. "But, by the fourth, I assumed you were injured or sick and I-"  


"Injured or sick," he mused, leaning back in his chair. "And when have you known me to be either?"

She shrugged, the trapped feeling increasing by his cold, laughing eyes. Taking a timid step closer, she said, "I guess there's always a first for everything. I know you do not get sick easily, but-"

Amaro slammed a fist on the desk. Gitana jumped back, and thought she heard the crack of marble. She refused to look up, however, knowing only contempt would churn in his ocean blue eyes.

"You," he began in a voice of placid rage, "know nothing about me. And the more you try, the more I detest your pitiful attempts of understanding."

"Please excuse me for worrying over my husband," she retorted acidly. Gitana did not regret her audacious words, because she was tired of her husband's behavior. 

She was tired of his covert excursions, and tired of his condescending manner. And now, the mysterious and brooding manner she once found alluring was down right sulky. Brooding in a dark corner only made a man musty and pale. 

This man needed a wife to correct his ways, and it was about time she acted like one. Well…at least that's what her French maid advised. Hortense was proving to be that solid investment she needed in her life.

"You're very spirited this evening." She was privately disturbed that he did not shoot out of his chair and scream at her in all the numerous languages he knew. Rather, he sounded very calm and deliberate, as if he was a mere spectator commenting on the outburst.

"I'll forgive your bad behavior for this evening, because—" he broke off, clenching his teeth. " I understand this Jorge man, and what a rich mistress would mean to him… And you, being so…persuadable, would be a perfect target."

__

"He doesn't think about targets, not like you," she hissed. "And if you are so threatened by our friendship, why do you tolerate it?"

"My dear," he chided, "do you truly expect me to terminate a man for being an opportunist? Hell, if he's smart enough to look for a second income, I shouldn't turn him away for it. 

__

"Besides," he added after some silence, "I've no need to be threatened. You've been behaving exemplary so far, despite your forbidden visits, and a very good wife."

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed and bravely marched to his desk. "Just who do you think you are? I had no aspirations that you'd 'forgive' me. I don't think I did anything wrong in the first place!"

"You know," he began quietly as he began sorting through a pile of papers before him. "I believe you have just proved the reason as to why you must stop seeing Jorge and my horses. If this is the way he influences you…"  


"You're the only who has influenced at all! And my mistake was to let you," she stated firmly, leaning forward. 

"Your mistake," he replied smoothly as he scribbled replies to friends and "business" partners, "was to ever set a foot in those stables. Ever since you've been silly and, now, insolent."

"Then blame yourself for that," she muttered. Gitana turned away, and leaned on the desk edge. She did not care if her posture was momentarily imperfect, and that her position hiked her dress hem high enough to show her ankles. "It was you who drove me there in the first place."  


She heard him chuckle softly. "Please continue," he goaded.

__

"It was because you willfully and deliberately mistreat me," she growled, whirling to face him.

He shrugged. "You can hardly expect me to ignore you by accident." Her rose bud mouth dropped in surprise. Hortense said that, once properly thrown off their high horse, husbands realized the error of their ways and humbly apologized. He took advantage of her silence and continued with:

"I know these orders maybe a bit alarming to you, but try to understand. Because you have such a weak mind, through no fault of your own, you cannot properly judge one's character."

"I'm not half as slow as you think I am. And there's no need to tell me I am a bad judge of character; I married you, didn't I?" He smiled, as if his little pet had performed a surprising little trick.

"I'll be gone for a few days, Tana." He stamped the Amaro seal into the melted wax on the letter and began folding another.

Her mouth stayed open, this time because of his announcement. He arrived just a few months before on urgent business and now he had to leave again? And what business abroad was there for him if he had his horses right here on his property?  


"Where?" she asked softly, again turning away from him. "England again?" What was on that damn island that Spain didn't have? Were the horses prettier? The gambling better? God, she hoped it was on of the two, and not the third, disloyal thought she had in mind.

__

"Yes."

"And how many days this time?" She heard him shuffle the papers and rise from the desk. A butler came and stood by the entrance, awaiting orders.

"Treinta," he answered curtly and handed the servant the letters.

__

"Thirty days! Good God, I see the butler more than I ever see you. He might as well be my husband!"

The butler respectfully maintained an impassive face until he was sent away. When Amaro turned towards her, Gitana did not feel the gaze of an embarrassed husband. Instead, his eyes were that of a displeased employer.

He did not comment on her behavior again. The words that fell from his sensually feral mouth were empty. Customary. As were her questions. When are you going to leave? Tonight. Will you take any servants? No. Did you pack enough clothes? The trunks were already there. Will you promise to come as soon as possible? Of course.

The ominous grandfather clock down the hall way emitted twelve resonant chimes. Amaro, who had been busy summoning servants to give advice, and to ensure his wife would be properly watched and chaperoned, finally moved from the fire place and towards the door. Gitana still leaned against his desk, unable to find a reason to move. Her eyes followed him woodenly. Goodness, not even the warm glow of the fire animated him. Nothing would. She corrected _herself. Nothing _here_ would._

__

"Adrian," she called out softly. Gitana wanted to ask him one last question. Just one more, that would settle everything. "Is she very beautiful? More than me, I mean."

He halted in the entrance, his tall form filling the door frame. The one question struck an odd note with him. Gitana waited with trepidation for his answer, her eyes never leaving his broad back. A yes or a no wouldn't have mattered. The fact was that she existed. 

Adrian didn't give a yes or a no. Instead, he slowly turned to her, not smiling and not frowning. He just stared. Perhaps it was surprise of her astuteness. Or it could have been incredulity that she would have even think of such a thing. It was the first time in her life she actually wanted her husband to call her foolish and her sinful thoughts absolutely stupid.

Adrian never expected for her to run after him. To feel the small arms wrap around him like desperate, delicate flower vines. To hear her begging him to stay, for God's sake, just this once. Please, Adrian, please? He told her no. He always told her no. Because if he said yes once, he'd have to say yes again, maybe to something he couldn't fulfill. Adrian didn't expect her to cry like that, right in front of him. She never did that. He never expected her to ask so many questions. What can I do, Adrian, please tell me. What can I do? What does she do, that I don't do? If I do it, will you love me?

She hadn't said "again." All right, so she knew that he never did. That, even when he told her loved her in a hundred languages, he never meant it. Maybe that's why he never said it so that she'd understand. At least she realized that much. And he couldn't say yes or no, because he didn't know. 

__

He didn't expect her to cry harder, and tell him to please just try. Just try to love her. She'd been trying for so long, she sobbed. And she was tired. God, just try, Adrian, why can't you just try?

Again, he didn't answer. Adrian just kept on walking, towards the main doors. Poor Gitana. She had actually tried to physically keep him there. Her small feet whispered on the floor until he realized he was dragging her and pried her hands from his fingers. And she wouldn't stop crying, which disturbed him worst of all. Getting louder and louder, her cries more heart wrenching.

If I do everything you say, will you come back sooner? What if I stop misbehaving altogether, will you stay in Spain? What can I do? What can I do?

__

His answer were the nearly silent footsteps, barely echoing in the massive hall towards the main door, leaving something that hardly qualified as a marriage.

She didn't stand there for long, staring at the open entrance as if concentration would bring him back. Instead, she marched to her chambers and ordered Hortense to fetch her worn white dress. The dress of her trade and livelihood. The dress that Adrian disapproved of, but was kept because of the fond memories only Tana cherished. When the fearful French maid brought the dress, Gitana snatched it viciously from her trembling hands and threw it in the fire. Her hard eyes watched the cloth blacken and singe, hating the sight but forcing herself to watch it. The good luck, faceless doll almost met the same fate, but she decided she needed all the luck she could get. The dress, as cherished as it was, had to be burned. It was needed; Adrian disapproved. And nobody was going to steal the husband of Gitana Benevita.

Hortense, assuming her mistress had gone mad, fled the manor.

~*~*~*~

A gentle hand shook her shoulder. Rita's eyes opened to meet startlingly eyes, the color of the blazing leaves during autumn. Enviously long lashes framed them, their blackness emphasized by the pallid skin. Completely tacky coloring, she decided. But nonetheless beautiful.

"Rita?"

She gathered her senses, visibly shaking herself. For a moment she thought she was in a different place, and a different time. But then she mentally scolded herself for being so silly. She was Rita Glisscielle, and Bryan Smith had driven her some place to get away from the mean man. Gitana Benevita was long dead and gone. They sat quietly in his car, which was in his massive drive way, which led to an enormous garage, which sat a little away from a gigantic mansion. She was not in a manor, and the sky was clear and violet. No storm clouds. No talk of travels to England. The world made sense again.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," she said quickly, and unbuckled her seat belt. Rita sensed his speculative gaze on her, but thought nothing of it. He looked at everybody as if they were under a magnifying glass. "Was it a long drive?"

He shrugged and left the car. Before she could blink, he was at her side and opening the door. "About twenty minutes."

"Where are your parents…parent," she corrected as they walked up the drive way. In an irritatingly possessive manner, his arm rested upon her shoulders, drawing her closer.

"Father's in Jamaica. On business."

"Business?" She repeated as he searched for a hidden key somewhere on his porch. The moon did not assist him, for trees guarded the perimeter of his estate. The shrubs, the trees, and the tall iron fence all combined to form a huge dark green wall. _The Great wall of Anomina_, she thought childishly and eased into a rock chair, which was, like everything around her, gaudy in size. Rita began to think his parents came from Texas. Bryan swore as he carelessly over turned rugs, potted plants, and patio furniture. Finally, he sighed and broke a window. Rita frowned when he insisted she climbed through after him, claiming the frame of broken glass was harmless. The least he could have done was open the door.

"Won't your sister be worried? About the noise, I mean." Because he was accustomed to darkness, the room remained without light until Rita discovered the light switch. 

"Uh…" Bryan scratched his head as he strode to the kitchen, motioning her to follow. "Nah, the spawn of Satan went to Boston tonight."

"All by herself?" she asked, eyes wide with disbelief. Bryan seated her at the kitchen table, and preferred to literally lie on the table itself. 

"Yeah," he drawled lazily, " Poor Boston."

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Even the lonely owl outside was far chattier than the couple inside. Unable to endure the rude stillness any longer, Rita said, "Aren't you the least bit curious as to what happened?"

Again that infuriating shrug. Rita had the urge to nail his shoulders to the table. No cigar, though, because no hammer. "I figure that, since you're living, nothing really bad happened. And I didn't want to push you." Although his words sounded indifferent, Rita sensed it was the truth. Bryan Smith was never the type to be overly concerned with anything unless it directly affected him. 

"I met my soul mate," she offered hopefully. The vampire's apathetic attitude made her want to say something, anything, to draw a reaction. He shot up as if somebody sat his hair on fire. 

"Your soul mate?" Joy. Now his eyes blazed with some unknown emotion, and his eye brows furrowed with apprehension. Finally, some sort of response. 

"Yes. But don't worry…I don't believe we're compatible."

He sighed with relief, rose from the table, and asked where she planned to stay. Rita had not an inkling as to what to do. A return to her house was not an option. The same with calling the Daybreakers. Her mother, being in Boston, would not care where she slept at the moment. No money for the town inn. Rita laid her head on the vacant table and turned it to Bryan's. Then the facts of her situation slowly dawned on her.

She left a psychopath in her home. That psychopath was her soul mate. She had nearly committed suicide for a boy she barely knew. Another boy she barely knew had more or less rescued her. They were all alone in his house. Not to mention she forgot to unplug all appliances and lock the front door. Rita shook her head, cursing herself for not meeting her own standards.

"Can't I stay here?" she heard somebody ask lazily. Only when surprise dusted Bryan's handsome features did Rita realize it was _her_ suggestion. She felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. How could she be so presumptuous? Seeing her regret, Bryan gave a disarming smile, and nodded. 

Rita didn't know whether she was relieved or not. But…they _did_ speak of pre-AS dates. She just hadn't expected their first to be an all-nighter. 

"I feel I oughta warn you," she said as they ascended the stair case. 

"Bout what?" he asked absently as they entered a dusty room. Bereft of decorations or personal touches, with the bare necessities such as a television and a bed. A cell phone rested on the bare mattress. Rita hugged herself, and almost saw her breath in the chilly air. She guessed lamia vampires were not affected by temperature, or lack thereof, just like werewolves.

"I think I might be clinically insane. It's a recent development." Bryan laughed, something that was strangely becoming on him. She found herself smiling as well, her eyes sliding up and down his body as he reached for some blankets in a closet. On their own accord, of course. Rita considered herself well above sleazy habits that included staring at a man's body as if he were a piece of meat.

"I don't mind if you're crazy," he laughed again, handing her some blankets and a pillow. " I also doubt it, because you're one of the sanest people I know. All right, you're all set." 

Rita sat on the bed, and tested the softness of the mattress. Bryan, curious by her action, sat next to her and caused a little earth quake of his own.

He smiled. "I guess buying this mattress was a good investment after all."

"You furnished the guest room?" Their movements brought the cell phone closer.

"Guest room? This is my room. And that's," he snatched the phone from her hand, "mine."  


She decided to ignore his constant possessiveness, for, after all, it was _his_ room he sacrificed for her. As if reading her thoughts, he added, "I don't really spend much time in it….Kinda empty, huh?"

"I'll say." Rita looked around the plain room, taking in the white walls, and the desolate snowy view beyond the windows. Even with Bryan, she felt so alone, so…isolated. A tiny frown deepened. _Why am I so upset? I am alone, in a very cute boy's house. The fact that the cute boy is here with me is another plus._ Besides, she really had no reason to be afraid. They had been in more compromising positions as children. And it had been a long time since she laughed like that, playing with Bryan. Life had always been so serious since then.

Rita's face lighted up when she remembered their wrestling matches. With an impish smile, she snatched the cell phone from his hand and scrambled to the other side of the bed. Instead of capering after her, he grabbed an ankle and dragged her closer. He was fast, but not fast enough to stop her prying.

"Gasp! You have Kelly McFarland's number and address. I always figured she had a nine hundred number and stayed in a brothel." She kicked at hands, successfully thwarting his offensive tactics until he pulled off her shoes. All the while, she scanned his Nokia for the sake of irritating the stoic.

"Why did this greet me with 'hello Jason'?" She wriggled free of his grasp and stood at the foot of the bed. Rita couldn't help but giggle as he, still on the bed, crawled closer, looking very much like an animal on the prowl. If it weren't for the sloppy grin on his face, she would have backed away in terror. 

"Because," he muttered and reached for the phone. Rita playfully snapped her teeth at his fingers and held the cell high above her head. "I thought we agreed no biting," he protested.

"We agreed no biting for _you_. Now Bryan Smith," she mockingly rebuked, "what are you doing with Jason Riley's cell phone?" Bryan had given up on regaining the phone. Just as Rita began to believe his guilty and defeated look, swift hands grabbed her waist and jerked her forward. They landed on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, the phone discarded to the floor in the crash. In their mirth, neither had really noticed their suggestive positions until Rita blushed and rolled off of him to lay by his side. She made sure there was at least a safe six inches between them.

"Well, he left it just sitting there and it had all the numbers I needed."

"And where exactly was 'there'?" she persisted and propped herself on an elbow.

"In his P.E. locker," he answered quickly, "besides, who deserves that Nokia more: me or high prince of shi...crap land.?"

"Both of you are extremely rich," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he admitted uneasily, "but what's the point of spending money on something you could have for free? And, once you get to the bare bones of it, it's not really theft if the idiot leaves it, with his Fossil watch, in a locker with the oldest combination lock on the flimsiest metal locker in the history of high school. It would have been a crime not to steal it."

Rita threw him a doubtful smile. "Um…I don't quite understand that last part, but okay, you get to keep it."

"You think I'd give it back if you disapproved?" he scoffed as he stretched over the edge of the bed to pick up the product of larceny.

"Yes," she answered pertly and spread the blanket to cocoon herself. And to prevent any further body contact.

"Don't you need something to sleep in?" Bryan eased off the bed…not so much eased off, but toppled off once Rita pushed him away with all her strength. Mercifully, his only retaliation was an equally roguish grin. She didn't have any energy for another round of wrestling. He left the room; seconds later he returned with a bundle of black material.

"Here, you can change into this if you want. Now don't look at me like that, I wouldn't have any kinky underwear lying around. I'm gonna be back in a couple of hours, so if you need anything…" He tossed the coveted phone back onto his bed. Rita sat up in concern.

"You're not going to stay? What if Mr. Break and Enter followed us here?"

He laughed again. She abruptly felt the need to film one of those rare moments, just to prove to her class mates Bryan Smith's lips did more than frown or twist in disgust. Rita frowned, causing him to wipe away his smile.

"If he did, I'm sure he'd run away once you give a firm lecture on trespassing. Listen, vampires are a bit nocturnal. I'll be back by morning, I promise."  


__

Just be careful…Smith has a habit of switching sides every so often… Rita sighed, hating the werewolf and his hours old warning. But it could not go ignored. She would just have to investigate.

She smiled and consented, ordering him to turn up the thermostat on his way out. Rita laid on her bed, slowly absorbing her first sleep over, until she heard the vehicle speed down the road. A determined smile grew on her lips. Now was the time for exploring.

All of the rooms proved to be as empty as Bryan's. She gave up the search and started for bed when she passed by a window. There was one place that she hadn't checked. The Smith back yard, she remembered, rivaled the town cemetery, in both size and atmosphere. Dead silence cloaked the frosted land as she walked farther into the territory, heading for a small oasis of trees and shrubs stranded in cruel white desert. The iron fence enclosed the trees and the creek that sliced through the middle of it. Rita tried to remember any fond memories from Bryan's vast property, but all that came to mind was the day Bryan pushed her and her friends into the water after regaling them with tales of the infamous Creek monster. Even as a young boy, he was ever the charmer. 

Slowly, she walked into thicket, ignoring the ominous warnings of the owl. She was on a mission for goodness' sake. No owl, no matter how creepy, would deter her from finding the truth. After all, she had told Jared she would be careful with the vampire. 'Being careful' included finding any sign of foul play.

Such sleuth like thoughts were running in her mind when she tripped over a root and fell onto frozen mud. She cursed her clumsiness, declaring it not at all something Dick Tracy would do, and stood up, brushing the leaves from her sweater. Rita frowned at the sight of mud stains on the sparkly whiteness. _Well, so much for mother's Christmas present_. There were little deposits of moon light here and there, enough to allow Rita navigate her way. It was smaller than she last remembered, and the creek was not as wide as she thought. Leaves had fallen on the water, making the small stream appear as a leafy nature path. Rita guessed it half frozen. She turned around to punish the root that had rudely tripped her. She stifled a gasp.

It was not a root, but a hand. From above, the owl hooted as if to say 'I told you not to come here.' And it had been right. Bile rose in her throat as she nervously brushed away the foliage. Leaf by leaf, she saw an arm, and then a shoulder. The rest was unidentifiable. Silently she thanked the Lord for the freezing temperatures, the only thing keeping the smell of decay at minimum. The face was not totally decayed, but contorted in fear and pain she could not recognize it. Besides, it was hard to identify with no eyes and a caving in nose. Not to mention that hole in one cheek. Among the rotting leaves and body parts sat a tarnished gold chain and fossil watch. Faded blue bits of cloth. Bones. Boots. Teeth, two of them platinum.

Before Rita could vomit, she heard not only the owl but a crow as well. Taking the black bird's call as a warning, she quickly kicked leaves over the corpse and ran back into the house. Just in time to see head lights flashing through the living room windows.

"Oh please," she muttered as she quickly stumbled up the stairs. "Please don't be Mr. Smith or the little sister." She had the feeling they wouldn't see her as a guest. Then again, she didn't want Bryan either. Not if Mr. Decomposition was his work. Rita sighed as she made it to his bed room, only to squeak at the sight of herself in his mirror. Mud and leaves artistically covered her pants and sweater.

The front door opened. She heard light foot steps up the stairs. Rita had no idea what to do as Bryan, and just Bryan, called out her name. Oh joy, Gomez and Wednesday weren't home. She couldn't exactly blame the mud stains on a trip to the bathroom. Desperate, she locked the door and hoped by the best.

"Rita? It's me," Bryan called through the door. 

"Back so soon?" he heard faintly. He frowned when the door did not open.

"I've been gone four hours." Now he heard a soft exclamation. The door was wooden and the lock could have been easily picked or broken. But he refused to frighten her. "Rita…this conversation would be easier if you opened the door."

"It's your door, open it yourself," was the childish reply. Bryan rolled his eyes and deftly picked the lock. Upon his entrance, he first saw a pile of leather on the corner of his bed. Eyes traveling farther up, he spied a fuzzy white pile in the middle. Then, there sat Rita, wearing nothing but his black collar shirt. She gave a friendly smile, as if it were the most natural circumstance in the world. At first he thought of nothing but her long legs. Then he noticed that she was strangely light hearted and troubled at the same time.

"Hello," she said cheerfully. Despite her cheery veneer, Rita's mind was racing. She couldn't go home, there was a psychopath there. Unfortunately, there was a murderer here. And if she had a choice to have a tea party with either, Rita would have run to Starbucks. She did not have Rik's number. Then she felt a qualm about her assumption. Perhaps it wasn't what it seemed. Common sense gave her a swift kick in the arse.

__

Of course. There was a body in his back yard because he thought it would make a lovely lawn ornament. Rita frowned, troubled by the fact that Bryan Smith would literally find a corpse lawn ornament fairly amusing.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked curiously as he saw her smile form a frown. Rita, who had been lying down, sat up as he seated himself at the edge of the bed. Bryan found himself faced with piercing green eyes. 

"Death."

"Come again?" Bryan thought he heard her say death. The proper, coquettish, and ingratiating thing to say would have been, "You," with an artistic pout of those full lips. But Rita was Rita.

"Death," she repeated and patted the space beside her, apparently usurping him as owner of the bed. 

"Yours or mine?" he questioned suspiciously, but found himself unable to refuse to tempting spot next to her. Especially when she stretched and crossed those beautiful stems. Privately, he knew she did not act to show any sensuality, but was very glad she did so unconsciously. Still…she had said death, twice. Perhaps that Daybreaker, Fayth, had been putting nonsense in Rita's mind.

"In general," she answered easily and laid back down, partially propped up by the pillow. Rita planned rapidly. She began a neutral conversation, and gauged his reaction to her morbid comments. Bryan gladly began the little chat, for, being a vampire and all, he seemed well acquainted with the subject. Rita found herself not quite understanding half the ideas he made, and rejecting all his philosophies. She did not hesitate to say so.

"Stupid," she said coldly, in a condescending manner he had often seen her use. Damn Glisscielle pride. "Would you say puberty is the end of life? No. Death is just another phase."

"Have you ever _seen_ a dead vampire? I guess not. We turn into dry withered little things, skin sucking onto our bones. We turn into mummies. Forever," he added dramatically.

"Oh so what? We rot," she replied, thinking of the thing in the back yard, "and we still go to heaven or hell. I don't care if you're a vampire or a human, you've gotta have a soul. Every body has a soul."

"So you're not afraid of death?"

She looked at him squarely in the eye, her own twin, emerald flames settling the matter. "Bryan, death happens to everybody. To the good people, and the bad people. Probably the only thing with complete equality."

He smiled, and realized she was completely right. Rita forgot her intention of determining his innocence as he slid closer, and was dimly aware of his arm pulling her closer. Reason told her to remain still and treat his advances as coolly as possible.

"What if Satan says you don't have enough sins to get in?" Rita asked in a whisper, eyes large and wide. Bryan watched them as he would a new animal, waiting any notable characteristics. But instead the emeralds were focused on his mouth. Then, ever the prude, she pulled back and smiled shakily. 

"So I'm condemned to hell, am I? I guess I'll just have to hang out at the door way, you know looking cool. What made you think of death?" he asked abruptly, leaving all joking behind. Rita felt his eyes drilling into her own, and knew she couldn't lie. But lying was not the same as withholding truth.

"My soul mate almost killed Jared Luna today after school." Not exactly what prompted her fascination with demise, but mentioning the corpse in the back yard wasn't an option.

"A great idea. What stopped him?"  


She smiled. "Me," she answered simply.

Bryan tsked, tsked in disappointment, but did not question. Then he frowned as Rita gently shoved him off the bed. "Good night," Rita yawned again, the events of the day weighing heavily on her eye lids. Like her President, if she did not sleep eight hours a night, grouchiness dominated the next day.

"This is my room," he protested. Seeing her lips purse with worry, he sighed. "Fine, I won't sleep here tonight." Rita drowsily watched him stalk out of the room, faintly worried she had irritated the potential murderer. She wondered what would happen in the morning.

~*~*~*~

****

ring the doorbell and run. He hates that." 

Unknown

The number four has always been my enemy. It's the number of years that separates me from my li'l sis, and she's the biggest pain in the derriere. It's the number of years in high school, and I'll leave it at that. But, hopefully this chapter isn't the end of me. What do you think? 


	5. Turn Of

****

General note to everybody: Right well, a lot of you are hating Adrian, which is perfectly understandable. But do keep in mind that the lines between villain and victim are ambiguous at best. Oh dear, that was a horribly cryptic line, wasn't it? Any way, I'm so happy about my seven reviews. On the seventh, I've turned SEVENteen. Seven reviews, turning SEVENteen on the seventh…coink-e-dinks always make me absurdly cheerful. It was sorta like getting seven extra b-day presents. Too bad this isn't chapter seven; that would have been _perfect_. 

Any way, I planned on updating on Wednesday, but as we all know, the site was remembering that day. I'm sorry if some of you are tired of hearing it, but I'm glad that Xing decided to do that. Made me sorta ashamed—here I was, thinking about updating when I should have been grateful that my cousin survived, who worked at the WTC. Any way, just a sorta explanation on the delay. 

NatalieNJS: Hey! Always happy to see new reviewers reviewing ~~~ well, if that wasn't redundant phrasing, I don't know what is. Ignoring all that bad wording, just showing my small but oh so important gratitude for your review. You're like the only one who's happy with the soul mate choice. Hooray for originality!! I was relieved to see that someone likes the flashbacks; I was afraid they'd be too angsty. Claps hands Yay! Another person's chosen this as one of their faves. Thanks!!! 

Lilith: Hilo! I know "Thanks for reviewing" is getting really over played (at least by yours truly), so I'll just say…Thanks for reviewing. I know, corny at its worst, but it's said/written with all sincerity. I hope you like this chapter and that I didn't keep you waiting for too long. Bye!

Skylark: Oh, dear, I didn't mean to emphasize Adrian's bad guy-ness; just to show their marriage. But, to give the guy some credit, he never told her he loved her. Truthful…in some twisted way. And, I hope I do have a good reason to make him a soul mate, although I'm really starting to doubt it now that I've read everybody's opinion of him. Maybe I just like a challenge. And, of course, I'll add some more Maria/ Valdis/baby info. Well, thanks bunchies for the review! Happy trails!

Practikalmagik: I knew nobody would get that clam chowder thing. See, the plot thickens, right? Chowder thickens too! Plot…chowder…plot…chowder…thick! Right, well, I didn't guarantee everybody would understand my sense of humour. 

Person with no name: Hello. Are you the same person with no name who reviewed before? Doesn't matter, I value your review all the same. Thanks for the encouragement, though, it's very much appreciated.

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Martha: Your little smiley faces always make my day. I'm glad you liked those little things. The sleepover did seem a bit out of character, didn't it? I was so relieved to see that it was made believable. 

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Jiana Weasely: Glad you liked it so much, even though it was a bit angsty. Your enthusiasm practically jumped off the screen. Nothing's wrong (or at least in my opinion) in babbling on the computer. Sorry about the start of your school year! Of course I feel privileged that this story is one of your faves. Thank you for the really nice review!

Vague Verity

Chapter 5

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"Marriage is the only

~*~*~*~

__

Prior Past

The homecomings were usually as festive as Navidad. Servants, the most important of their inconsequential class, lined the entrance of his estate to greet him. And at the end of this human chain would stand his little Gitana, glowing with happiness. 

Yet as Adrian entered his home, there was no woman child to greet him and babble welcome. The manor felt bizarre, empty. As if somebody had gone and snuffed out a lone candle in a desolate cave. Adrian tensed and frowned; Gitana was most likely in the stables.

He went as far as walking there, only to find the simpleton Jorge, alone. Ignoring the boy's gracious remarks, he turned and stalked back to his home. Tired of searching for the giddy little girl, Adrian retired to his room, for the two days journey had fatigued him more than he cared to show. Exhaustion was weakness, and Amaros never showed weakness.

Or so he thought. Adrian found one very fragile Amaro lying in his bed. With an inward sigh, he sat on the edge, not wanting to disturb the slumbering little Tana. Her hair, worn loose, cascaded down her back, the startling amount of tresses rivaling her body size. Faint lines of worry graced around her closed eyes, and even in rest his little Tana appeared troubled. He noticed with a smile that the good luck, faceless rag doll occupied his side of the bed. 

Then and there, he decided that little Tana was very fortunate to have met him when she did. What good luck she had to find a protector and provider before her obvious physical decline. And yet this was her gratitude. Although he found her raucous welcomes rather irritating, the least she could have done now was washed and dressed for the return of her hero.

The door silently eased open as servants shuffled in, dragging in the trunks and gift boxes. Impatient, Adrian dismissed the incompetents and rummaged through the packages in search of the present that would most please her.

To Adrian, her awakening was as obvious as a tap on his shoulder. She did not mean to let him sense it, he knew that much when he turned towards her, and saw the quick flicker of surprise. And yet little Tana did not speak; she simply lay there, half propped up by the pillows, and watched him curiously.

Gitana saw not an ounce of remorse or apology on her husband's features. Adrian looked as he always did after a journey; tired, but satisfied of the foreign events. With a stab of bitterness, tiny and potent, she realized that Adrian had probably forgot the entire quarrel. What shattered her world meant nothing to her other half.

Adrian's snapping fingers drew her from her dismal thoughts; he had been speaking of the pastel box in his hand. Even when he muttered an explanation, Tana looked up at him blankly. With a sigh that said "Of course you would act this way," he coaxed her into a sitting position and opened the box for her. A diary. She quoted him coolly, stating that she was half literate. Adrian smiled tightly and opened another box.

It was not until she felt something cool slip around her neck did Gitana realize Adrian had given her a gift. Sleepiness still lingered in her mind, she supposed, because it was becoming very hard to focus on Adrian or anything he said. Her hand flew to her neck, and indifferently caressed the cold hard pearls. Three strings, with two shell shaped clasps at the sides.

__

Like a parent to a toddler, Adrian led the silent Gitana to her looking glass. A tiny voice fought against her obedient mind, righteously protesting Adrian's dominating manner. She quickly quelled it when she spied a tiny smile on her husband's lips. He was pleased with her.

"Oh," she breathed softly, "they're black." Of course they're black_, she thought. Adrian always liked the look of a funeral, and preferred to have his people mourn with him. In the reflection, she caught sight of her prepared gown for the day resting, or rather, standing on its own stiff accord near a chair. Adrian's eyes followed the focus of her attention and, with usual abruptness, left the dressing room and returned with two boxes._

Tana watched impassively as Adrian presented the contents of the little packages. Normally, he did not care to touch his wife's garments, unless undressing her led to more enjoyable experiences, let alone praise them like some lowly sales clerk. But the expression of indifference spurred him to impress little Tana. Trinkets, in the form of pleasant colorful boxes, had always brought ridiculous delight to his little wife. Adrian frowned. The white silk, embellished with black and red embroidery, only drew a polite smile from her. When she saw he was displeased with her silence, Gitana spoke.

"That ensemble," she said lightly, "will make me look like a face card." Adrian realized she was right; and it was a damn irritating realization.

Gitana gave something dangerously close to a shrug, and pulled the bell rope and ordered the summoned maid to arrange a bath. It was only after her irking politeness in her thanks that Adrian realized he had been dismissed. Like a common churl, he was out of her mind. When she cleared her throat, he kissed the top of her head and escaped to his study.

__

Anger and suspicion, like the sun's radiant smile, is unavoidable for an ignored husband returning home. There was no rational link between his disordered library and his wife. But still. His little Tana was acting very strange. His carefully shelved books were in a very strange state. For the _shared adjective, the lady of the manor was summoned to face the extremely piqued husband._

The seconds between his order and her arrival only increased his ire. She was being childish again, he concluded. Probably pouting over the new clothes' length, for he could never remember how small she was, or giggling in her frivolous bubble bath. After five minutes, he decided to march to Lady Gitana's chamber and forcibly drag her from the tub. Whether she cursed him soundly or obediently accepted his accusations, it would be a pleasant sight.

Gitana swept in, and stood before him in the corner that held the literature, hands clasped and eyes cast down. Already, she was clad in his gifts, pearls and all. Yet…the very fact of the clothes, and her polite curtsy and equally polite smile, screamed insolence and indifference. Somehow, obedience had transformed into impertinence, and he did not like it one bit.

"Yes, Adrian?" She prompted, and he realized he had been staring.

He pointed to the disarrayed books lying on the shelves. "These are out of order."

Gitana coolly raised an eyebrow. "Tell the servants then. I'm certainly not going to fix them for you." Seeing him scowl, she quickly added, "It wouldn't be very ladylike to do the help's duty." Adrian scowled again, but for a different reason. His little wife had been right. Damn her, he thought _pettishly._

He spotted a grin on her rosebud lips, and felt the need to erase her tart smile. There was never anything to smile about, as far as he was considered. Adrian Amaro believed that, as soon as you celebrated one happy moment, another terrible event occurred just to spoil the fun. Smiling was a waste of muscle movement.

"We have gala in a few weeks."

"Hmmm…we, is it? Oh fine," she consented, as if she had a choice, "Where is it?"  


Adrian's eyes glittered like the cold, merciless ocean. "Here," he answered. Her composure disappointedly did not crumble. She merely widened her already wide eyes, murmured something unintelligible, and left the room. Outside, in the hall way, Gitana leaned against the door. How very malicious of him. There was no doubt in her mind that had had planned this weeks before and purposely did not enlighten her just for her look of surprise. Well, she thought angrily and gathered her skirts. She had just given one performance; she would give another that evening.

The next few weeks were very confusing to Adrian Amaro. Two days before the fiesta, Amaro pondered the changes as he tested a new red roan about the estate.

Not only had his wife taken to orthodox garments, but sedate occupations as well. Sewing, reading, turning old dresses. No riding, much to his puzzled relief. Her appetite increased as well. Tana's voice held no longer the cheery, fast manner that usually made him tune her out completely. Instead, a sweet sotto voce had replaced the bird like twitter, almost caressing him to sleep. Sleep, he thought as the roan decided to leap over a creek, and the bed had never really gone hand in hand; other activities, however…. It was the only change he disapproved of.

She had shrank away from him the night before, and the night before that. Even when she became pliant, she shuddered and tensed when she usually smiled or giggled. Perhaps she had sickness. Perhaps he should send for the apothecary; for humans were irritatingly frail. Perhaps she had learned of the expected lover from the servants and found comfort else where. Without explanation, it suddenly became very important to Adrian Amaro to find out exactly what was wrong with his little gypsy.

__

Days later, Gitana silently rued her own bravery. Although she maintained the appearance of having her own little world, Gitana Amaro was very aware of her surroundings. Most likely the red gown caused the vicious whispers. He chose the daring color, with its damn daring neck line, for nobody wore red in this town but harlots and gypsies. Why on earth would he arrange a social event if he didn't even bother to enjoy it?  


Her husband, so deep in his own worries, did not recognize the cleverly disguised discomfort in his wife. Instead he asked her to dance. With mechanical compliance, she accepted and distractedly allowed him to lead. She stumbled a bit, for it was the first time she had danced the waltz with a partner in public and not an invisible hero in the privacy of her chambers. With natural ease and grace, Gitana quickly learned the steps, her brown eyes wandering restlessly through the sea of faces. She felt something was wrong, besides the obvious: her floundering marriage, the sadistic company, the heaviness of the rich food in her stomach…

"Gitana. Gitana. Tana, pay attention!" 

Her soft brown eyes slid slowly to her husbands. "I'm sorry," she said in a delicate tone. "Did I step on your foot?"

He shook his head impatiently. "I just asked you a question."

"Ask it again." He wavered for a moment. Oh dear, she thought, he's had the lobster too. I never should have eaten that, I feel awful myself…

Gitana, lost in thought of stomach potions and gluttony, failed to notice they had gracefully _swept past the other dancers and into a little shed under the grand stair case. As if waking from a dream, she blinked several times and tried discern her surroundings. _

"Gitana," he began firmly, setting her down in a chair she had spilled milk on a month before. 

"We shouldn't be here," she said softly, still gazing around. So this is where all that ruined furniture went. "We are the hosts, and we shouldn't abandon the guests…"

__

"Since when did you care about the guests?!" he demanded, exasperated. Then he remembered it was a mere human he dealt with and tried to maintain patience. "Just answer one question and we will return, I promise…Do you love me?"

She did not answer. Gitana rose from her seat and stood in the door frame, so that all Adrian Amaro could see was her corseted, pinched, and confined figure of a silhouette. 

"You have made it difficult to love anybody else," she replied with something of her old smile. At his puzzled expression, she laughed softly and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

It took a few moments after she left for Adrian to realize she had not answered his question. Not a yes, nor a no. And she had said difficult, and not impossible. Angry for her sleight, he briskly left the shed.

Tana walked, distracted, back into the main hall. Only to find herself speaking to a taller woman. As the conversation continued, obvious reluctance and agitation settled on Gitana as she studied her. Beautiful facial features. Voluptuous curves. And garish jewelry that displayed disgusting extravagance. The mention of his name. The towering female's silvery laugh. Tana's own tensing in response.

The golden amazon spied him and excused herself, moving towards him with deliberate slowness and studied elegance. Strangely enough, Adrian took no note of the breathtaking lady prowling towards him. All he felt was a strange sharp pain when Gitana turned towards him, with such an expression of vulnerability and anguish he stepped back. Even hundreds of feet away, he saw tears in his little Tana's eyes. The gypsy looked like a helpless kitten, attacked by its own _protective mother._

With one last look at the festive banquet, Gitana sighed and left the people who were supposedly now of her caste. The woman had spoken of Adrian so fondly, so outrageously intimately…it had to be her. And she was as beautiful as Gitana ever hoped to be. Fair, as fair as a well bred woman should be. Well rounded, for bearing children. Not so slender and gangly and brown as herself. Gitana sighed again and slipped off her wedding rings. She belonged in the stables. She was worth as much as the horses any way. 

Only Adrian Amaro heard the gold bands fall to the marble floor with empty clangs.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Rita found out that Bryan kept true to his word. He had not slept in his own room. In fact, it appeared that he did not sleep at all. Verity felt the cold air, and heard nothing. She stretched luxuriously, and wished her own bed at home would be just as wide.

When she opened her eyes, the boy was sitting in a chair at the computer desk; she learned it was very startling to wake up under a disturbing, scrutinizing stare. 

"How long have you been there?" She didn't move; something about his piercing eyes made her very wary.

Bryan shrugged. "Not long. Sleep all right?"

Had he been staring at her all night, then? She had slept amazingly well considering the events; but Rita knew she wouldn't have knowing a possible murderer had been scrutinizing her for hours. With a smile people used to direct lost children, he informed her apparel for the day was in the bathroom, and that, since they were already late, they would stop by the Donut Hut for her breakfast.

Rita did not worry about his cold demeanor as she showered and tied up her hair. It would probably be a blessing if Bryan broke off their planned relationship. A separation would have quelled the growing Bryan-caused guilt in her stomach, considering her intentions weren't purely romantic.

But the orange eyed boy warmed considerably once they arrived at Anomina High. He offered his hand to help her out of the car, and the hold stayed all the way to health class. She was quite aware she was not the same wild haired girl of yesterday. So she did not understand why people's eyes bulged out alarmingly, or why, again, they whispered. Bryan, however, expected and enjoyed this sort of reaction. What else were people to think when a girl wore the same pants from yesterday, and a man's collared shirt? A shirt that had been given to him by Marjorie the Christmas before. It would not be long before rumors of Rita's sleepover at Bryan's mansion circulated.

It was sheer bad luck, or so she believed, that Bryan's seat was assigned to be on the other side of the room while Kyros sat in front, Jared in the back, Rik to her right, and Amaro to her left. In the back of the room too, where the harridan Mrs. Fullion would not notice, even if a circus broke through the wall.

Seventy years old and counting, Mrs. Fullion seemed to lack the strength to tolerate a thirty person class room. Which was why she drank her "vitamins"—what kind students never knew, for the vitamins took shape of a glass bottle wrapped in a paper bag—every ten minutes until she became rather tipsy and stumbled out of the room or fell asleep soundly on her desk. 

But for once, Rita wished Mrs. Fullion had imbibed a refreshing Yoo-hoo instead of whisky this morning. As soon as the old woman let out a reverberating snore, Kyros turned around in his seat and frowned at her. Rita sank back in her chair, for the normally cheerfully Kyros looked at her like Puritanical preacher. Before he could condemn her to hell, she heard Jared say accusingly, "That's Smith's shirt."  


Rita winced at his tone, and looked towards Bryan's side of the room for help; the vampire appeared to be flirting with Gaila Berry, and Rik, who had been stiff with disappointment, followed her gaze and then turned to her with the same look Kyros had. And she didn't dare turn to her left.

"Why are you wearing Bryan's shirt?" Rik demanded.

"I called you last night," Kyros informed her icily. "Where were you at midnight?"

"Didn't I tell you to be careful with Smith? Didn't I?" Jared raged. 

She wished they were a little more discreet, her soul mate slash villain sitting right next to her. Feeling very low, she sank farther into her seat, for three pairs of disappointed eyes were too much for the girl accustomed to pleasing.

"Well?" she heard Jared prompt impatiently behind.

Rita fiddled with her sleeve before she said, in a voice so cool she did not recognize it as her own, "Would you rather I walked to school in just my bra?" Without waiting for Rik's answer, she turned to Kyros, "You shouldn't have called at midnight any way; I was at Bryan's, if you must know, and Jared," she murmured and turned to face him, "I can take care of myself."

"I really doubt that, Rita, I really do," Jared said, clearly furious with her. How is it that this acquaintance of a few weeks managed to make her feel guilty for necessary safety precautions? 

"Does it look like I'm hurt? It seems to me that the only time I do get injured, I am in _your_ company." The last part, she expected, stung him. But she did not know the depth of his wound until he swore enough to make a pirate blush, and then stomped out of the room, roughly shoving Kyros off his desk on the way out.

Rita frowned at her words, but realized it needed to be said. She had persevered fourteen years without a father; there was no need for anyone to assume the position now.

__

Still, her mind told her urgently_, Bryan did have that little thing in his backyard._ _What was it let me see…I'm trying to remember…oh yes: A CORPSE!_ _Goodness,_ Rita thought with some alarm, _the subconscious could be so sarcastic._

But before she could open her mouth to haughtily explain, the dismissal bell rang, and the first period of lunch commenced. With disgusted looks thrown her way, her class mates, including Kyros and Rik, filed out of the class room. That only left Bryan to escort her to her next class; but with the image of the backyard body fresh in her mind, Rita quickly excused herself to her locker.

She found Rashel talking on one of the pay phones outside the gym on the lowest floor. Rita thought it was an important call to that boss, Thierry, until she heard the dark haired girl confirm pepperonis and give the high school's address. Already aware of her, Rashel found herself saying as she turned around,

"I can't stand your cafeteria's cuisine. What do you want?"

Her frankness momentarily alarmed Rita. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I stayed at Bryan's the other night."

"Congrats," Rashel replied flatly. "You sought me out to brag about your first notch?"  


Rita shook her head impatiently. "He left for a while and I had time to investigate. Guess what I found," she whispered excitedly, although no one else was present in the hall.

"All right, Nancy Drew, I'll play along. You found…fruit punch stains on the carpet."

Rita frowned, and decided against telling her about the stains in his little sister's room. "No," she said, shaking her head, "a _corpse_." She expected some sort of excited reaction, or at least an interested gleam in her eyes. Instead, Rashel crossed her arms and sighed.

"Sorry," Rashel said at the sight of Rita's crestfallen face, "but he's a vampire, Rita. Even if he doesn't collect the dead as a hobby, his family members might. And we can't suspect Smith of any foul play just because his psycho sister was careless with her toys."

She should have guessed Rashel would have known everything about everybody. So far, everything the Daybreaker said sounded perfectly logical. But Rita couldn't ignore the tiny tinge of suspicion deep inside. "Still…if this was a little 'toy' why would she bother to hide it in the back yard?"  


Rashel shrugged. "Maybe Papa Smith doesn't like the smell of decaying flesh around the house."

"Look," Rita began, feeling very irritated at her certainty.

"No, you look," Rashel interrupted harshly. "This mission is screwed enough already with lack of evidence and support in this god forsaken town. We have only two weeks till your stupid AS, and we still haven' t gotta clue as to what your soul mate's planning. Now you expect me to drop everything just because your crush is in danger?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Rita spied a glimpse of dark hair swiftly moving towards them. Despite's Quinn's intimidating presence, she couldn't help but persist. "He's not my crush. And I don't think he's in danger, because, like you said he's a vampire and he can take care of himself. I'm thinking he_ is_ the danger."

Quinn stood beside the girls, confusedly trying to ascertain the subject of the conversation. "Smith?" Again he was confused. As far as he knew, Smith and Amaro were not in cahoots.

"But he's not the one we want right now."

Rita drew herself to her fullest height, trying with all her might to loom over the girl. "So you're just gonna let him kill the town one by one?"

"We'll deal with him later, _if_ there's anything to deal with," Rashel growled through clenched teeth. Rita stood her ground. How dare this girl question her suspicions? How dare this short wannabe Buffy dare doubt sensible President Rita's conclusions?

"I heard from Kyros that you used to be the best vampire huntress out there. But how can a huntress be an idiot and survive?"

Rashel's fierce green eyes flared before she jerked forward, only to slap air. When the student body president looked up from her squatting position, she saw Quinn holding his soul mate's hand, and frowning at both of them. 

"Rita," he scolded as she stood up, "you should know that Rashel could kill mid blink."

"Or very slowly," his soul mate added venomously.

"And Rashel…"he shook his head in disappointment. "You know better. She's just a student, for god's sake, not a bad guy." As he spoke, Rita realized the foolishness of her words. Rashel could not only kill her before she blinked, the trained martial arts expert could gouge her eyes out so that she would never blink again. Considerably disturbing.

Catching sight of Ophelia, Rita quickly excused herself and ran along side the girl on her way to class. She could not help overhearing Rashel grudgingly order Quinn to do a more thorough C I on Smith.

"Why were you hanging out with the incest couple?" Ophelia asked with obvious scandalous curiosity. Rita stopped in her tracks.

"Pardon?" Her face was the picture of surprise.

"They're cousins," the chubby girl replied in a matter of fact manner. "You've never noticed how much they look alike?"

Rita frowned, puzzled over the identity of the source of the silly rumor. "Who told you this?"

"Bob Steve," Ophelia answered quickly, with a noticeable bit of pride. "He talks to me all the time in Lit." Rita waited till Ophelia entered her class room before she rolled her eyes. She should have expected Kyros to be so immature. 

With an absent minded good bye to her friend, Rita left to report to her student aide officer and then proceeded to start her rounds. She was not surprised when, on the second day of school, Bryan was one of the many who already had detention. Instead of heading immediately towards the designated delinquent room, Bryan insisted upon helping Rita as part of his punishment. Her stomach tightened with nervous agony as they walked silently room to room, delivering messages, summons, and forgotten lunches. In a corner of her mind, she knew she should have been somewhat grateful for his rescue. But Rita couldn't help wonder if she had left the clutches of one murder into the loving arms of another. Of course, if she was to find the truth of her doubts, Rita kept her suspicions inside and tried to discipline her betraying expressions.

"So…" she began tentatively, inwardly cursing the tremble in her voice, "why do you have ISS so soon?"  


Her apparent nervousness made him smile. And with that facial transfiguration, Rita caught her breath again. Perhaps it was the overwhelming recent events, or the fact that he had always shown contempt, indifference, or heartless amusement ever since they were children… but Rita never realized how very handsome he was. Bryan's genuine, merry little smile caused a sudden epiphany that explained why girls, and guys, swooned at his feet and why teachers melted at his slightest notice. Bryan Smith was just as handsome, or even more, than Rik Pinesworth or Jared Luna, or even Adrian…no she wouldn't think of him. 

Soiree escort raised an eyebrow, his expression returning to that of the perpetually bored. With a burning blush, Rita turned away; while she had been admiring his features, her pace slowed until she stood stock still in the hall way. It was very difficult to think of a boy with whom she played house and little mermaid with as a man, let alone an attractive man. In any case or term, Bryan Smith found her attractive, and treated her with more kindness than anybody had shown her all her three years at Anomina High. Before she could wallow in her warm, girlish thoughts, she noticed belatedly that words were coming out of those perfect lips. Focusing abruptly became the immediate priority.

"…don't really find it a good reason for punishment. Do you have Mr. Goldsworthy?" As if waking from a dream, Rita shook her head, as both a negative and a way to gain more alertness. Rita found out that imagining seeing through someone's clothes was a practice not only reserved for men.

"Any way, he's from England and damn proud of it. Marty was wearing a shirt with a beer and Old Glory on it," he paused as she entered another class room, languidly returning eager hello's from the door way. 

"But why would you get detention if Marty was the one promoting alcohol?" Rita prompted impatiently. She had decided it was time to stop gawking and return to sensible Verity Glisscielle. 

"Hmm? Oh…yeah, Marty… Well, of course, they get into this big thing about the shirt. Marty says it's patriotic and Goldsworthy says it insubordination against the dress code. And I, maybe the only person who cared that we have a unit test in less than a week, tried to bring the stupidity to a stop."

"By…?"

"Explaining that Marty was probably going to be an alcoholic any way and that the only reason Goldsworthy was being such an ass about it was the American flag." Rita was visibly thrown into deeper confusion. "In my opinion, he's still bitter they lost the colonies." Rita reached over to grab his referral. The action caused a brief contact of their hands; Bryan smirked and leered unashamedly, while Rita ignored his reaction altogether.

"Five days of ISS and a parent-teacher conference. Something else happened, Bryan," she stated sharply and without hesitation. As quickly as it had fled, suspicion flooded her mind. If her childhood friend couldn't even tell her about small school trouble, what else could he hide?

"Fisticuffs," he supplied hollowly, feeling very much like a punished child the moment she frowned upon him. 

"With?" she persisted sternly. Immaturity, she decided, decreased a man's desirability dramatically. 

"Adrian Amaro. For god's sake don't look at me like that, Rita, I'm older than you, you know."

"By a year, but apparently stupider." She remembered her second encounter with Amaro, in the parking lot. He didn't even flinch the bullets, if he had been shot at all. Rita wondered why Bryan lived to tell the tale and not bleeding to death at Adrian's feet.

"Don't go acting like my father. He started it, I swear to god. My comment started something about land. Somebody said it's just land. Amaro, outta nowhere, says land's very important blah, blah, blah. Crap about possessions and who had it first. And I said that what he said was bull shit, and that we, Americans I mean, won it fair and square, if you disregard the Native Americans…"

"Which you shouldn't. Please don't tell me you boys had a brawl because something settled well over two hundred years ago in the Revolution," she lamented.

Bryan shook his handsome head as they ascended the stairs. "See, I thought we were talking about America. That guy's on something, Rita. What started the fight was when he goes, 'Maybe that's what they teach you, but from what I've learned, once you rightfully own something, she's yours until you say otherwise.' I think Goldsworthy was gulping down Bayer."  


Rita had halted so abruptly and silently that Bryan had continued eight steps before he saw he lost his companion. 

"Are you sure he said 'she'? Or 'it'?" Mentally, she pleaded the vampire to correct himself. Seemingly nonchalant, he confirmed the word "she" and gently pulled her up the steps. "And that's why you got into the fight?" Rita asked, exasperated.

"Hell, I no idea where the conversation went. He just came in swinging," he finished. Any other girl would have cringed at his expression, but Rita, having more or less grown up with him until his "military" father returned and moved them to a nicer part of town, calmly nodded and then stepped a noticeable foot away from him. 

"You might as well know he was in my house the other night. And he's my soul mate. And that I was his wife in my first life, being an Old Soul and all. But don't worry, I don't like him." From debates, Rita had learned her best tactic was to stack all logical points at once, confuse the enemy, and, when in danger of them resurfacing to their own reasonable defense, strike viciously adding a few doubts of their intelligence. All the while keeping one harmless expression. The local Grant Hagan Scholarship favored debaters. 

"Amaro?" Bryan's handsome visage was satisfyingly perplexed. "He was in your house? In your room, too, then?" 

"Yes, Bryan. You don't think he visited to study my kitchen tiles, do you?" 

He seemed flushed, and, for the first time, a bit embarrassed. Of course, he regained composure. "And…you're his wife." It sounded more like a question.

"I _was _his wife. Honestly, Bryan, I thought you were listening to me. I thought you knew more about this Old Soul nonsense than I do. Why don't you understand?" She stopped and faced him, meeting his gaze directly. "Don't you trust me?"

If somebody had warned Bryan a week prior that former child hood friend Verity Glisscielle would stand before him, in his best shirt, asking the most irritating and cliché question in any female's ammunition, he would have laughed…no, too much emotion. Maybe an eye brow raise. Many girls had asked him that, many girls who lacked the significance to deserve respect, let alone trust. But, with Verity Glisscielle, she always had to have things her way. First student councill, Anniversary Soiree, school finances, and now their budding romance.

So what began with slight jealousy and angry protectiveness of _his_ territory, Bryan stared at the floor with familiar shame. The same kind that washed over him when he had ruined her mud pies by throwing them against a neighbor's house. Except this time, instead of a hard smack to the head, he'd lose his date to the Anniversary Soiree. 

Saving face, Bryan looked up at her with what was known as the 'melting' look, declared complete trust in her, and offered to deliver the rest of her referrals and summons. Rita, who never cared for liquefying at a man's gaze, merely gave a small smile and consented. Enemy's trust secured. Now it was time to see if the enemy's corpse had a name.

Still armed with a student's aid badge, Rita found Samantha Rochert in Trigonometry and pulled her out to the hall way. Sammy T, who found her acquaintance's recent developments rather interesting, giggled when the president asked for information on a boy.   


"Wait," Rochert stalled, quelling her excitement over the intrigue momentarily. "Does this mean you're already losing interest in Bryan?" Rita was unsure how to answer, since her "interest" in Bryan wasn't totally sincere. 

"Samantha," Rita snapped harshly, in a voice used to command attention in council meetings. "Stop prying, you'll find out later. I need to know who in this high school had…I mean _has_ two platinum caps. One on the bottom row and one on top row. He also has a fossil watch, with a red face with navy blue little faces for the month and date."  


When given a task, a Rochert always concentrated. Samantha appeared deep in thought. After some silence, Sam asked, eyes distant, "I have fifteen boys in mind. Black or white?"

It was hard to see the precise color under that spongy, gray texture that was once skin. But by the hair type and major guessing, Rita finally answered, "White."

"Do you know what kind of shoes?" 

When one discovered a corpse, shoe brand wasn't always a major concern. Concentrating just as Rochert had done, Rita slowly said, unsure of herself, "Timberlands, I think. Dark brown. Um…there was gum under the left? No, right foot, and under the heel. Does that help?"

Rochert gave a dazzling smile. "Scott Buffington. December twentieth, he was walking past me when he stepped in some gum I spit out earlier. I don't know why boys just don't learn. I spit my gum out there, at that exact spot, all the time. He was the fifth one that day. He yelled out 'What the hail?' and walked off. Seriously, he said 'hail' and not hell. I wonder why he hasn't bought new boots yet. Two platinum caps, he was late to Mandy's class one day because of the dentist appointment. That's all I could tell you."

Rita thanked her shortly and dismissed her back to class. It couldn't be Scott. She had just delivered him a detention notice ten minutes earlier. 

Unknowingly taking after her late father, Verity groped for something or some one to blame. It couldn't have been herself. Even with her sister's unfortunate situation, she had managed to adapt. Things went awry when…he had arrived. And the devilish Daybreakers too. So, logically, the only way to retain her controlled life style was to be rid of them. 

There. Simple as that. Drive the soul mate and daybreakers out of town by finishing their job for them. Apologize to your friends and know thine enemy.

Rita's lips curved into a complacent smile as she walked back to the student aide office. If there was one thing she could do, it was to finish a task, efficiently and quickly. But painlessly…well, that was just too much to ask for.

~*~*~*~

New York, New York 

He was absolutely adorable. Light brown skin, enormous afro, and eyes that would turn any girl into syrup. Problem was, he was a little young, and still lived with his mom. Which was understandable, considering he had only completed five years of his life. 

"Who's that?" Andrew demanded when he spied somebody over her shoulder. With a giggle, Maria realized he sounded very much like Valdis when he violently disapproved of her relationship with Kyros.

"My boyfriend," she answered with a warm smile.

"I guess you could talk to her," Andrew grudgingly allowed, climbing out of her lap and backing away. All the while glaring at Eldson, who tried his best to appear nervous.

"Oh," Maria sighed dreamily once the five year old was out of ear shot, "let's have one just like him."

Drawing his soul mate to her feet, Valdis frowned as he escorted her to her locker. "Just like him? Let's see, the whole boy thing is still up in the air. Fifty-fifty chance, I'm told. The excessive suspicion he'll get from me. Social difficulty he'll get from you. But," Valdis glanced ruefully at the boy as they left the daycare, "I don't think I can arrange for him to be African American. Neither can you."  


"If you say so," Maria agreed solemnly. A shiver suddenly took her entire body and she snuggled closer to him. 

"And if that baby comes with an afro, don't think I won't be suspicious."

"All right," she laughed through chattering teeth. Belatedly realizing her vulnerability to the disagreeable temperatures, Valdis cursed himself under his breath, promptly wrapped her in his own leather jacket, and literally swept her off her feet.

Extremely uncomfortable at such a new height, or rather, too much of it, Maria pleaded softly, "Valdis, don't make a spectacle of yourself. Or myself, for that matter. I can walk the next three blocks without people staring at me, thank you." Maria sensed that this sort of nonsensical protectiveness would be something to accept over the next seven months. Resigned, she tried to calm her soul mate as bold fellow pedestrians gave Valdis several suggestions as to what to do with his baggage. Then, five minutes away from their home, Valdis found himself grasping desperately at the wriggling form in his arms, for a flirtatious young girl, most likely fresh from the school room, had whistled at him. Maria had shouted more profanity than a pregnant woman ought to know or say, and struggled desperately to wrench out of his embrace to savagely hunt down to fleeing harlot. 

"For God's sake," he exclaimed impatiently as they ascended the stair well, "she's probably running to Canada by now. Stop being so damn difficult!"  


"You looked at her," Maria said heatedly, "Don't deny it. I saw you, and you gave that stupidly sexy grin of yours, and then the whore smiled back. I saw you."  


Unable to contradict, Valdis shrugged nonchalantly as he roughly dumped her on their couch. "I thought she was lost. She looked like she was looking for someone." All right, so the last part was a little lie; but she did look a bit helpless, and Valdis had a natural need to protect women.

Maria snorted in disbelief. "Probably a customer."  


Valdis ran his hands through his blood red hair in silent frustration. "I didn't see any rabid violence for the men who complimented you," he remarked dryly as he stalked towards his bedroom. 

Maria, who had been lounging on the couch, bolted upright at his last comment. "But I'm used to it," she muttered under her breath.

"Then get used to people liking how _I_ look; you're not the only gorgeous one here you know…" Maria frowned, wavering between anger for his arrogance and happiness at his compliment. 

"Listen," he began, in a voice so gentle Maria immediately forgot her irritation, "your doctor called me. Well, he called for you actually, but you were at work…"

"What is it?" she prompted impatiently, for if he beat around the bush it only meant something unpleasant was going to happen. 

"You sorta failed to mention your heart trouble."

"Yes," Maria confirmed slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion, "that's because I don't have any." Inwardly, she was damning all doctors and all childhood illnesses with lasting cardiac effects.   


Valdis rolled his eyes, and decided to ignore her perpetual denial, lest that led him astray from his original subject. "Well, you failed to mention your nonexistent heart trouble. Doc wants you to go in for an EKG tomorrow."

"I hate hospitals. Hospitals hate me," she added, thinking of all the nurses whose blood pressure she raised just because they wanted to check hers. "Let's just keep the peace and stay respectively away from each other."

"Think about the baby," he said angrily before he could help himself.

"I'm not stupid," Maria mumbled as she curled up into a fetal position next to him on the couch. Absently, she began to toy with his shirt buttons. "I know this could…do stuff to me. And then, Doctor Stupid will suggest an abortion." He noticeably tensed at the word, and Maria spoke hurriedly to comfort him. "I know some people justify it when the baby could kill the mom, but I don't. Believe me, when it comes between me or the baby, we'll choose the baby. Right?"  


Valdis sat quietly, only moving to run his hand through her hair. It was more comforting to him than her. He knew his silence irked her, but irritation was much better than the fiery fury he'd feel if he spoke the truth. Inwardly, the choice was not as simple to him. The baby or Maria? _I want to keep Maria_, he thought selfishly. Damn the baby if it dare take her away again. He had lost her twice, no nearly three times. Maria loved him, no question, and would do so until death. _The baby might grow up into one of those ungrateful brats. It might disown us or tell us how lame we are in front of the "cool" friends._ _Or worse, it could grow up and turn into what I was. Cold, ruthless, power hungry…_

"Say you agree, Valdis," she ordered with a dangerously quiet voice.

He shook his head, purposely avoiding her gaze. "It's still early in the pregnancy," he whispered hoarsely, rubbing his eyes.

"The hell it is. Got enough cells to make a baby. _My_ baby," she emphasized coldly. Was it his imagination, or had the room temperature dropped at her chilly tone? 

"And what if you die?!" he asked savagely. "What if I get the damn thing and I have to raise it without you? Hell, Maria, I have trouble with Ceberus. What am I going to do with a baby without you?!"

Her eyes flared at the words "damn thing." Maria couldn't stand his indifferent attitude. Then she stared at him and gave a disappointed shake of her head. Valdis clenched his teeth as he watched her retreating form disappear into her bedroom. It was times like these when he hated the rising of the Old Powers. If it wasn't for the damn forces, he wouldn't be in this mess.

Maria leaned against her door after she had slammed it shut. Aunt Clara had foreshadowed this sort of behavior on an earlier phone call. And Maria's dear Southern relation also mentioned the status of the baby... With an exasperated growl, she turned around and flung the door open. 

"And our baby will _not_ be a bastard and you _will_ find me the best diamond ring _ever!"_

~*~*~*~

Anomina, Massachusetts

As luck would have it, there was no need to fake remorse on her part. At lunch, Verity had approached the Daybreaker's table. Kyros had caught sight of her first, and thus drew Rik's and Jared attention to the new arrival. Before she could speak, Jared said gruffly:

"Listen, Rita…I guess I was a bit rough earlier. I know about your family and stuff and…and I guess a girl who could still take care of things like that and be the smartest girl in school could take care of herself. We all think that. Don't we, guys?"

Rik nodded, eyes cast down, and Kyros smiled and winked at her suggestively. Rita frowned sternly at him and asked him pointedly, "What is it you want?"

"See! I told you she wasn't stupid. I told you she'd know we were up to something," Rik exclaimed, proving some point as Kyros coaxed her into the seat beside him.

"But I really do apologize," Jared reiterated, eyes round. He reminded her of a child eager to please. "I really did mean it. You forgive me right?"

Rita smiled and nodded, patting his unruly hair when he looked doubtful. "But please get down to business," she told him as she unpacked her lunch. 

It was Kyros who decided to inform her. "All right, here's the deal. We figured this whole waitin' and investigatin' is worth crap. We know nothin' and that might end up with a lotta people dead just 'cuz it took us too long to act. So we figured we'd better get to the root of the problem, ya know what I'm sayin'? That Amaro guy knows what's goin' on, and if you could just figure it out for us, it'd save us a helluva lotta time. 'Sides, if we beat the bad guys, then that'll mean I get more free time. _We_ get more free time," he corrected, lazily draping an arm over her shoulder. 

Her slightly panicked look did not discourage him. Rik instantly ordered him to keep his paws to himself, and Rita thought she heard a growl from Jared. 

"What does Rashel think of this tactic, which, incidentally, might put me in danger?"

"They don't know," Jared mumbled, who looked none too pleased with the idea. Verity tilted her head closer.

"What was that? They don't know? Kyros Snow, Rik Pinesworth, Jared Luna, I'm very disappointed in you," she reprimanded sternly, her face of motherly gravity. "I would have never expected you of mutiny, especially with so many lives at stake."  


"It's not mutiny," Kyros objected defensively. "It's just…secretly helping the leader in a way they haven't thought of yet." Verity, for the spiteful sake of seeing him squirm, stubbornly maintained the admonishing expression. "Well, fuck, Rita," he exclaimed desperately, "this is the stupidest mission ever. Just sitting around trying to interrogate the Night World without _any_ form of torture. It's about damn time somebody did something before your class combusts!"

"But isn't there are reason your leaders haven't thought of—"

"Or approved of," Jared interrupted. "Yes there's a reason. It would put you in danger. You know," he added, lowering his voice as if the other two had disappeared, "You can refuse if you want. You don't have to do this, not if you're really uncomfortable with it." Concern was etched in his adorable face. Kyros and Rik glared pointedly for his worrisome comments.

Rita smiled and consented. That part where Kyros mentioned of staying after the mission disturbed her, but undoubtedly they'd find no reason to stay. Nothing exciting ever happened in Anomina.

~*~*~*~

Rita instantly jumped at the sound of her name…or rather, technically, not her name. She had been too busy watching her breath evaporate in the cold air, and thinking about how to execute yesterday's plan. Kyros had put it so easily, "get to the root of the problem," but how? She could hardly imagine going up to her soul mate, batting her eye lashes, and asking, "Hey, these people who are messing up my life need to know how and when you're going to kill my townspeople, so can you please tell me?" Success would be highly unlikely.  


She had been standing in the green house, or rather lack thereof—a mere black plastic tarp of a roof, with only a few poles to support it. Not a single wall, for money went to the darn drama club this year—on the roof when he came. It wasn't his particular identity that startled her, or so she told herself, it was the fact that anybody else had arrived. Nobody came to the green house this early in the morning, before school started.

"Tana," he repeated, with faint relief in his voice. Rita turned towards him and leaned on one of the architectural poles, green eyes wary of his every move.

"Amaro," she returned, voice as cold as the season. "What are you doing here?" All right, not the ideal way to start and interrogation, but she wanted to know any way.

After some hesitation, he answered slowly, "I was looking for you. I figured we needed to talk." 

"Why?" Rita, for the first time, managed mask her emotions. Instead of showing her surprise at his comment, Rita frowned icily. This wasn't right. He was supposed give an evil laugh and then try to sweep her off her feet in the same manner Hades tried to win Persephone. Brute stupid force; not talking it out.

"Because," Adrian replied, annoyed, blue eyes darkening, "I think you are painting yourself as an innocent victim. And that, my dear, is the wrong color."

She immediately tensed when he took two steps closer. Rita had never really seen him in this way. First of all, he wasn't wearing that scowl or arrogant smile, nor was he in a fighting stance. Gone were the dark clothes, instead he wore khakis and a white polo shirt. Something rectangular rested in one of his pockets. Distractedly, Verity thought she saw it before…but that wasn't the point. The point was that Adrian Amaro, her ex-husband and future mass murderer, was trying to be normal. Abnormally normal. And he just stood there, in the sunlight—which, she thought, wasn't the villain's natural backdrop—earnestly watching her expression. 

"Of course it is! You hurt me, on purpose. You betrayed me. You neglected me. I was your soul mate and you treated me like you treated your horses." With taut fury, she closed the distance between them. His unmoved expression drove her into hotter anger.  


"I see you've been remembering some of our marriage. And I'm glad of that, but I'm disappointed to see that you insist on remembering the bad parts." 

  
"There were never any good parts," she hissed viciously. Dark tendrils threatened to slip from the bun, and her green eyes burned with instinctive hatred behind the glasses Bryan had bought as a favor. "My decision to marry you is probably the reason my life is like it is today. Stupidity is always punished."  


He diplomatically chose to ignore the last comment. Instead he said, striving for lightness, "I assure you, my dear, there were many. Do you need help…?" Rita shook her head, suddenly confused by his easy manner. Why wasn't he frowning at her? She had deliberately thrown an insult at him and…and he smiles?

"Scared?" And now his voice was teasing. Gitana, Verity knew, hadn't seen this side of him often. Insulting, yes, teasing playfully? Big no. After all, the man hadn't used charm to strong arm the naïve little gypsy into marriage. And there was no need to woo after the condemning ceremony. _Oh dear_, she thought with apparent alarm, _Adrian Amaro is actually trying to flirt._ But, as she had no experience, Verity was not one to judge if he was very skilled at it. She shook her head again, and wondered if her brain would become too rattled for school at the end of this conversation.

"All right," he conceded easily, "you're not scared. You're just worried that, if Bryan gets word of this little tete a tete, you'll get into trouble."

Was her store brand cereal tainted with hallucinogenic, or did Adrian just grin at her? Perhaps he was trying to get information out of her again. Skin to skin contact would be the ideal way to weasel it out of her. But then again…

"Fine," she consented, unknowingly failing to hide her ulterior motives from her expressions. Verity pulled off her gloves and held out her exposed hand in the frigid New England air. "You take my hand," she prompted when he simply stood and stared. And then he moved to her.

Not to take her hand, however. Before she could jump back, he had her lips trapped against his.

~*~*~*~

"Have you seen Rita this morning?" Jared stiffened at the sound of the normally cocky voice and glanced at the new windowpane of the back passenger seat. Yup. The carrot topped bastard.

"It's eight o'clock in the morning," he muttered as he locked the Yota. Jared sauntered towards the school. "Why the hell would Rita come to the apartment before school started?"

Kyros shrugged, uncomfortable with asking this unexpected competition. He had stopped by the Glisscielle residence, and then checked every meeting room of all her possible extracurricular activities. But the Beta Club class room had been empty, the library was missing the very tutor he needed, and the Math Team was sadly lacking their most important member. As much as he'd hate to admit it, Kyros was worried. Worried and extremely displeased. The girl evidently enjoyed Bryan _and_ Jared's company, and now she was neglecting her duties and himself. Pitiful way to treat a guy who had been so nice to her. 

"I don't know. I just need to talk to her," he replied curtly, following the werewolf to the school entrance. Jared eyed him suspiciously.

"Any message you have to give her you can give to me…She wanted to talk to me before chem." All right, so it was a lie. But Jared felt this damn fur ball needed to know where he stood concerning Rita. Jared felt he was very close to her, whereas Kyros was on another planet in the galaxy of Closet Cases.

"Liar," Kyros jeered immediately. "She doesn't want to talk to you any more than she wants to talk to me." He then paused, realizing he had just insulted himself. "And stop trying to protect her from the rest of us, or lie about where she is."

Jared stopped in his tracks. The cars, full of students and faculty, angrily drove their way around them. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Kyros ground out, frowning with irrational anger. "Taking her away before school ended. Skipping really, which would have ruined her record. If you hadn't done that, she would have never have cut herself."

"And if your damn daybreakers had done your job and protected her, she wouldn't have come to me in search of help."

"We're here on an investigation, not serving as body guards. Besides, Rita's become a colleague now, she can protect herself." Inwardly, Kyros believed it was the stupidest and weakest argument in the history of arguments, but it shook Jared anyway. 

"Then why did she come to me?" 

Kyros shrugged. "Momentary lapse of sanity, I guess."

"And what's so important that you can't tell me to tell her? We're all involved in this 'mutiny,' you know, not just you and her. Whatever concerns her in our mission, concerns me too." Jared's normally boyish face was set in harsh, stubborn lines. Had not Kyros been made of sterner stuff, he would have stepped back from the wolf's raw anger towards him.

"And what if it's personal? Private, and for her ears only?" Kyros challenged, drawing himself to full height so that he could tower a mere few inches over his adversary. The Arctic fox felt he needed every advantage, for the werewolf's strong affections had shaken his resolve. He had no idea Jared felt such solid emotions for a girl he had known for a few weeks. Actually, he didn't know the damn dog was even capable of emotions outside hunger and the desire for sleep.

Jared himself only had a vague notion of why the girl in question meant so much. He wasn't one to question a good thing. Maybe it was because she hadn't talked down to him; at least, not any more. She wasn't stupid, flaky, or irritatingly optimistic. For some reason, she had the same mantra as he did. Take what life gives you and adapt to it. Granted, there were a dozen or more girls in Anomina with the same qualities, but they probably didn't have sporadic glimpse of innocent humor that Rita had. And that girl was so damn innocent sometimes he had to smile. It would be a waste to have such a great girl hanging over the carrot topped retard in front of him. 

Jared tensed, so much so that Kyros believed he saw veins straining in his neck. "Then you definitely can't talk to her."  


"She'll talk to whoever she damn well pleases," he retorted.

A new voice coolly cut in, "Who just happens to be neither of you." Kyros winced and Jared looked behind him with eager hostility. Grasping at his usual jovial manner, Kyros turned to face Quinn, who stood in the middle of the other lane, creating his own little traffic problem for the prisoners of Anomina High. 

__

Damn. Shit. Damn and shit and everything else that's god awful. Even as the negative thoughts ran through Kyros' mind, he managed to maintain the devil may care grin. "Quinn! How ya doin'? Great weather today, huh? Good thing we have anti freeze for blood-"

"Describe the mutiny," Quinn interrupted in a hard voice. Kyros noticed he had crossed his arms and there was a little amused smirk on the vampire's lips. But, of course, he was not amused. The fox guessed his boss was somewhere between pissed and pretty damn pissed. And that wasn't a good range.

"Mutiny? Uh, well, it's this thing in Lit class. Very interesting, all about the ocean. Something along the lines of Gilligan gets tired of the Skipper's abuse and pulls a Lizzie Borden on the fearless crew…"

Jared stood behind the two, unsure of his next actions. This was purely Daybreaker business. Still, there might be the option of benefiting…

"Kyros came up with the idea of using Rita, a civilian, to get info from Amaro," he supplied evenly. "And Bryan, if possible. Both potential psychopathic serial killers. That's right; little innocent human dropped smack into danger just because Kyros didn't have enough faith in his leaders…"

By now Quinn had had enough. Kyros as a friend was fun and hilarious; but Kyros on this mission was irresponsible and dead weight. Thierry had made a mistake of letting the fox lead his own missions for the past year. "Snow," he said curtly over his shoulder as he walked to the school. "We have to talk."

That was it. Jared saw the four, monosyllabic words shatter Kyros. He almost felt guilty when he saw the fox's face melt into utter defeat. His eyes were panicked, then despairing, like a man on death row. Snow didn't even respond to Jared's gloating smile. He simply sagged his shoulders and followed the vampire as if he were going to face hell.

The werewolf reminded himself that Kyros Snow was just trouble, to him and to Rita. Bastards like Snow were all about fun, not even realizing the damage he'd do. Rita needed someone stable, someone who wouldn't leave town once his mission was over. 

~*~*~*~

__

Prior Past

"Adrian?"

"Hmm?" was the drowsy reply.

"Do you know many different languages?"  


Adrian sighed tiredly, tossed around, and propped himself on an elbow. Her question was irrelevant, and damned inconvenient when one was trying to sleep . But all his irritation vanished when he gazed down at her inquisitive, child like face resting in the moonlight. It wasn't her fault she had no sense of timing.

No sense of timing! _Rita repeated, irritated. But Amaro didn't answer; he was preoccupied with something…_

"Yes," he answered softly, his hand gently brushing the sable tendrils from her face. Her hair is always a mess, _he noticed with some impatience._

__

"How many?" 

Apprehension spread through Rita like the foreboding cracks veining on a frozen pond. She didn't want to see this memory, certainly not with his point of view, but she would have to endure it. She couldn't seem to break away…

__

Adrian shrugged as he lit a candle, the tiny flame revealing a young couple lying among a mess of sheets. "I don't know. Enough. Why?"

"Because when we were…during our…" Tana blushed, and bravely plowed on, "earlier, you said something I didn't understand. That is…shouted it, really…"

"During when?" Adrian asked, keeping a straight face. He knew very well when, _hence the tangled bed sheets, but it was refreshing to see a woman blush out of sheer naïve embarrassment. _

"It is nothing of importance," little Tana answered quickly. "But, I've noticed half the time I have no idea what you're saying. No hablas inglis, francas, alleman…"

"All right, I understand. What am I supposed to do, speak only espagnola?" She shrugged, some of her shoulder slipping out of the night gown. Adrian eyed the exposed area, hoping that the night gown would slip farther and only half listening to her response.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Or, you could teach me some other language," she suggested brightly.

He shook his head, using one arm to pull her closer. "You're only half literate. Well I'll be damned, you're as light as a feather." Adrian observed this with some surprise, for he was certain all that dancing would have built some muscle.

" 'I'll be damned'," she repeated questioningly. He had been leaning down to kiss her when she asked, "What does that mean?"

"Nothing," he answered in English, the adorable confusion growing in her eyes. "Parce que, jamais tu ne parlerai les autres langues…" Adrian laughed aloud; Tana was past confusion and onto ignorant anger. "Ti amos, my little Tana."

__

Tana clearly had no clue as to what that meant, but the tenderness in his voice soothed any anger she had. Surely he hadn't said anything offensive with such a caressing look. Soon his lips matched his eyes, possessively claiming her own. As his hands gradually descended below her shoulders, Tana pulled away. As if she were suddenly aware of the hour, and his intentions. Unused to being rejected, Amaro coaxed her closer, his hand rubbing her waist patiently.

"Satine caloris tibi est?" Tana had no idea what the Latin words meant—or, for that matter, that they were Latin at all—but the meaning in his voice was embarrassingly understandable.

"Otro vez? Again?" 

He grinned, murmured something about his "dushenka" and proceeded to dispel any thoughts of foreign languages.

~*~*~*~

Rita wondered if this was similar to an infant's ripping from the womb. She had been _inside_ his mind, as unbelievable as that sounded. And now she was rudely torn from that dark cocoon and thrust into an awareness of her self. The softness of his hair under her hands. The warmth from his breath against her cheek. The sharp corner of the book, as she now learned, in his pocket against her thigh. 

For a few moments, the cold was nothing to her, the green house smells sharpened, and the past was not a dark lurking nightmare but a fleeting delightful episode in a long, experienced life.

To her a painful marriage. To her Tana was a horrible weakling of a girl, who should not and would not ever resurface again.

To him a pleasant diversion that ended with human stupidity. To him Tana was a slow child, who could dance prettily and provide a few laughs.

Rita jerked her head back and away from his caressing lips. She dropped her arms, which had traitorously wrapped themselves around his neck. Her green eyes flamed with immediate fury; true she could not hide her feelings on her face, but Adrian would have preferred a cold, false mask than the angry and disgusted intensity she showed now.

"There was no need for a kiss." Her voice did not quake, and there was no flicker of pleasure in her hard emerald eyes. There was no sign of his little Tana anywhere. Tana would have never ended a kiss willingly.

"And, as for any change in my feelings towards you, that prelude to a porno did turn my opinion. My stomach, yes, but not opinion." Rita fully meant everything she said. She realized that Kyros' plan would fail if she continued, but her own safety was her first priority. And getting involved with Adrian Amaro was everything dangerous.

"Do not ever try that again. Ever," she emphasized when she saw him start. "If you do wish to contact me, you do so in a civilized, constrained manner. This is the twenty first century, by the way. Women don't swoon anymore if you force your attentions on them. We just make sure you don't do it again."

This was wrong. Adrian knew this wrong, all completely and utterly wrong. He kissed her, almost against his own will. But, unlike Tana, he felt more than light pleasure. There was fire, hot and challenging, spilling from her own lips that unconsciously responded to his own. Their connection was so strong the moment their mouths met that he could have sworn he had been electrocuted. And all she felt was disgust?

"There's no need to try to evoke and toy with my feelings for your own advantage because I have none for you. So, all your manipulations are pointless," she continued.

Verity saw him move towards her again, this time arms open in a gesture of exasperation. It was, unfortunately, the same time Morice Orin swaggered into the green house, only pausing with surprise at Rita's presence.

Through the black rims, Rita eyed him and then Adrian with chilly hauteur. "Looking for me, were you?" Morice grinned, for he mistook Adrian's gesture as an ardent one, and was pleased that this human of undiscovered curves suddenly found a liking to Night World men. 

"Excuse me," she murmured coldly, sweeping past Morice and through the door. With an insolent stare, Morice frankly assessed her body as he allowed only the minimal amount of space for her exit. Once she was out of Amaro's view, but still close enough to hear, Orin let out an equally insolent whistle.

It was enough. "Damn, Orin could you stop being an ass for one second in your miserable life?" Adrian growled and roughly shoved him out of the way. He did not care that his friend had not expected the blow, and was now toppling over the edge. All that mattered was reaching that self righteous Verity Glisscielle in time to give her a piece of his mind.

"Rita," he called, catching her arm to face her towards him. Her eyes held a jungle of cold anger and some apprehension, ruining any intimidation she attempted earlier. The girl would never win at poker.

"All right, so maybe I was a little patronizing," he conceded roughly, "but don't you dare preach to me about manipulation. You did it all the time, and you're doing it now. Yes, you did," he repeated when she began to protest. "You drained sympathy from almost everyone in Morta Vitez, so that even my own friends turned against me. And now, you're playing the dog, the fox, and the leech against each other for your own purposes. Don't say a damn word about manipulating."

"They don't feel anything for me," she argued weakly, the increasing feeling of guilt causing her to flush.

"Of course not," he agreed in an ironic tone. "The sons of the New Night World Council always help a human without taking a bite. And workers for Circle Daybreak always plan their missions around indifferent, uncooperative little girls. Naturally."

His points all made cruel sense. Even if Bryan was a murderer, what was the use of helping a girl working for Circle Daybreak? For his logic alone, Rita's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Adrian Amaro," she began in a tremulous, but angry tone, "you know nothing of me, nor the people in my life. If you think that, because you're my soul mate, you understand my mind or my emotions, you're dead wrong. You've probably never experienced the things I have in your long, decadent history."

"You have no idea what you're up against. Hell, I have no idea what I'm up against…"

"Being my soul mate doesn't automatically mean you get a say in my decisions. I know what I have to do, and I always have. You and your little pieces of advice do nothing but get in my way."

"Gitana Amaro—"

"It's Verity!" Rita almost stamped her foot in frustration. "If you half as wise as you claim you are, you should at least get my name right!" And with that calm exclamation, she turned on her heel and walked briskly away, muttering, "Idiot," under her breath. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Rita saw the man was actually wounded by her little insult. _Goodness gracious_, she thought in exasperation. "Listen," she began evenly and squared her shoulders. "Don't take this personally. I know you're my soul mate and all. Somewhat important," she added. Winnie had told her that finding your soul mate was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity but…she had a lot of lifetimes ahead of her. "But you're also in the way. Timing's all wrong, you see? It's sort of my senior year and now these visitors…well, you'd never understand. You should have come during the summer vacation. Or spring break. We would have time for counseling then."

With a cursory shrug, Rita turned away and made her way down the stair well. She ignored the cumbersome weight of guilt in her stomach and made a mental note to report to the Daybreakers that she had felt some peculiar bumps on Amaro's head. Plus that possibly informative book in his pocket. Explaining that she made these discoveries during a kiss was going to be difficult.

~*~*~*~

****

war in which you sleep with the enemy" 

Unknown

Hilo. Some of you may find Mrs. Fullion a little hard to believe, but try. Personal experience. Biology teacher. Ever notice how I only name the common knowledge plants? Sad results of inebriated educating. Needless to say, she was discreetly fired. All very hush-hush. But I thought she would be an interesting character. Any who, I'd like to know what you think about this one. Please review—I've stopped promising adoration for forever. Just a few years at the longest. 


	6. Events

****

Neona-deniker: Ha-ha, write an extra long review, and ye shall receive an extra long response. Man, I will feel so stupid if you don't even read this. Right, on with the responses:

You've been waiting since Frozen Fire?! One, that surprises me because it was posted forever ago. And B, that surprises me because I'm sort of detesting it for my own, private, personal reasons. But, gee, I'm flattered that you're all extra dedicated. You know, so many people have called me "devil" lately…I wonder if I should take that as a hint…but they say cute devil so I won't worry.

Thoughts on your Thoughts on the Story: I know it was predictable. Things would be so much easier if there were more than four main species (and their descendants) in the Night World. Of course I contemplated making a hybrid, but then I realized that there are a lot of a hybrid fics out there. Kiana's done an awe-inspiring job with that, so I won't even try. I'll explain the wooden branch in this chapter. Ha, Rik hitting really hard—funny concept, even if it isn't realistic. Drache heir…too complicated, and I'm too lazy to go down that shady path. I mean, I'm sure the Drache ancestors and the Amaro ancestors must have chilled together back in the day, but that's about it. 

Sorry about Kyros. I didn't get to really develop his character in FF, but I don't really see how he's changed—still virile as ever. And, as you've seen in Frozen Fire, he's been on a few independent missions, and a little impatient with the progress. Basically, yup he's in the way, romantically and mission-ly. So you, like many, have fallen under the spell of Jared; and he doesn't even try. About the party, Jared's moody like that. Ever known a boy who's on a male PMS roller coaster twenty four/seven? That's Jared, except Rita's a little cure for that. MAYBE I'll add something later. 

About Soulmates: Ian won't be changing and Rita won't be changing. They'll learn a few things, but (and this is one reason why I don't like Frozen Fire) he won't start bursting into love songs or dissolve in self-disgust. 

I like picking the small original characters and giving them their own personality; I would have done Nissa, but, well…she's dead. Not much to work with, is there? And, jeez, Apollo? I'm sorta with Maria on that—I detest that brat. Some may fall for his whole angel-innocent-cherub thing, but did you see how candy greedy he was at Delos' party? Not to mention that whole sexually harassing pregnant women habit. No, no, I'm putting my foot down. No more Apollo…well, maybe later, but only MAYBE. Er, yes, that whole Maria pregnancy situation…there is a purpose. Purpose, purpose, purpose…just a fair warning so you won't acquire murderous intentions to me later on in the story. Right, okay, so Kyros, Winnie, Fayth annoy you…and yet nothing of Bryan—who is a blip, but a rather selfish blip if you ask me. 

See, I had a feeling that some might be taken off guard by Rita's change. Before I edited the first chapter, I had more of Rita's interactions at school, illustrating the contrast between home and school Rita. But then I realized that chapter one was forever long and that some of Rita's I-am-woman-hear-me-roar-while-I-maintain-polite-smile stuff had to be cut out. Maybe I should have left it in, considering the responses, but it's too late right? This isn't a DVD, I can't add deleted scenes and alternate endings. Now, proper talking…don't really keep that in mind when I'm writing dialogue. I wrote "prim" in summary because "frigidly responsible and somewhat bitchy" girl took up too much room. Okay, that may not be accurate, and neither is "prim," but she does have rather high standards for people. :0) I can't help it with the proper writing but improper dialogue. I've been preping for the SAT's, so a bunch of insensibly big words have been getting stuck in the head—they have to go somewhere, right? And, seeing how I won't be using "verisimilitude" in my school conversations, why not burden them on the nice people who read my stories? My theory, any way. 

Again, I feel _incredibly_ dumb if I wrote this extra long response and you don't read it—but hey it was fun to write. Wow, was that long! Bye!!

Martha: Hey, I know, I know, almost nobody does. But, it's not like she's ready to go house shopping with him. One kiss, and she didn't even like it! So, calm down, we're not having any Adrian/Rita fluffiness. Bye!

Skylark: Short and sweet, right? Hee-hee, short or not, I'm glad you reviewed. I like hearing from the same reviewers, although the new ones are cool too…stopping before I put my foot in my mouth. Thanx! 

****

Zabella: Hello, cool name. Very glad that you like it…I wasn't aware that I made her stronger in the later chapters, but oh well! Kudos to me! Any who, also glad that you think the characters are interesting. And, gee, I feel special because you gave more than one review. That's so sweet!

Person with no name: Wow, I must have a certain charm for people with no name. Hello anonymous reviewer and thank you for the encouragement!! Hope (if you're reading) that you'll like this chapter…though I doubt it…

Vague Verity

Chapter 6

****

"Kinde pitty chokes my spleene; brave scorn forbids

Those teares to issue which swell my eye-lids;

~*~*~*~

This was just plain wrong. He allowed her to visit his school, used his powers of persuasion to get her a visitor pass, and then she abandoned him. Women.

Rik was watching Fayth with a stormy look as she flirted with two vampires by their lockers, only thirty feet away from him. He thought it was very mean for her to flaunt like that. All right, so she was only trying to get information by playing dumb blonde. The vampires, after all, were relatively new to Anomina, and were not informed of Fayth's Daybreak status. But still, he pettishly believed, there was no need to stand so close.

"Rik," he heard a female voice call softly. He turned to his left, and met a pair of dark green eyes, framed by the most sensible pair of glasses he'd ever seen. Rita.

"Hello," he responded faintly, eyes narrowing when Fayth playfully slapped one boy's arm. 

"What does it mean if a guy has bumps on his head? Displaced mumps, or did a cartoon mouse drop anvils on it?"  


Rik could finally concentrate on Rita's words once Fayth, finding no information, apathetically shoved both boys aside and rolled her eyes at their invitations. "What? Bumps? Who?"

"Yes, bumps," Rita repeated, somewhat impatiently. "Adrian Amaro. He has little bumps on his head, near his forehead. I felt them. There was also a book, maybe a day planner, in his pock—"

"How many?"

"Um…four? No, three, the other bump I felt must have been his ear."

Rik's shoulders sagged considerably, as if the number helped the situation. Still, the depression lingered. After he had asked her if she was sure, and she had confirmed it, his expression became even more troubled. By the time Fayth reached them, Rita was asking whether he had indigestion and if she should summon the school nurse.

"What's the matter?" the Daybreak agent asked, concerned. Rik gave an apologetic smile.

"You know how you were saying this mission couldn't possible get more difficult?" Fayth nodded, apprehension clouding her expression. "Well, you now have a dragon on your hands. Explains why my whack with the tree branch didn't put him in a coma." Fayth swore loudly, while Rita looked confusedly around the hall way.

"Where?" she asked candidly, eyes showing green puzzlement.

"Your damn soul mate," Fayth answered brusquely, deeply troubled. "How many horns?"

Verity tried to remember what she had learned about the species. _Dragon. "Now there's something I'd like to be."_

"Rita says three, if that helps any," Rik supplied hopefully. "At least it's not five. Weaker than most—remember, out cold with one measly little stick—" 

"No it doesn't help any," she snapped. "Listen, I know you hate doing work but send everybody a mental memo to meet me at the nature center as soon as possible. We have to rework this, now. Goddess, I have to call Keller…" she muttered as she walked away, without waiting for Rik's consent. He shrugged at Rita with a small smile, and followed suit. As he did so, the fluorescent lights slightly outlined the shape of his gun in his side pocket. _Much good that'd do him now_, Rita thought, now that she knew it was a dragon. Nobody ever needed fire arms in school, Night World or no.

~*~*~*~

New York, New York

God, how did this all start? When she threw the pencil? When he woke up in her bed, bandaged and bombarded with apologies? Or did it all start when he gave her a forgiving kiss that led to another and then another…until they forgot what they ever fought over? She usually stopped him. Maria was a virgin, he wasn't. There were rules with that sort of thing. But she forgot the rules. He didn't; he just ignored them. 

So it was really all his fault, Valdis rationalized. It would have been unfair to punish her in losing the baby just because he was selfish that night. It was his job to protect Maria, not hurt her. 

When she was fully awake, Maria was aware of two iron bars pinning her down. She couldn't toss, turn, or stretch. To her left was a board that couldn't be pushed away. It took her a few moments to realize that the bars were her soul mate's arms. The board was his chest. 

"Hey," she protested sleepily. "You're not supposed to be here. I'm angry at you. You have your own room," she yawned as she snuggled closer. Valdis pulled her into a tighter embrace. "And you're not allowed to sleep in my room. That's why the door was locked," she mumbled, eyes threatening to close again.

He knew that, which was why he picked it open. He also knew that Maria was the most stubborn person in the world and the only way to persuade her away from an already made decision was while she was sleepy. Or drunk. Seeing as the latter wouldn't happen, Valdis decided waking her three hours earlier than normal would do the trick.

"Maria," he murmured, gently shaking her awake. "Maria, I've been thinking about the baby."

"Mmm-hmm…"

"I realize now that we can't kill it. That would be homicide. And between you and me, we've killed enough people."

"Yeah," she yawned again, wiggling deeper under the blanket. _Need warmth. Warmth good._ Something cool slipped over her fourth finger on her left hand.

"But, if we're going to keep it, you're going to have to be more careful. I've had some bad luck with keeping wives alive."

"Aaalll righty then," she agreed, absently trying to pry off his arms from her waist. That thing on her finger…a ring?…scratched his shirtless chest. He still didn't move. "Jesus, do you implant steel in your arms or something? Move already!"

"So that means that there are going to be some changes. Got it?"

"Get it, got it, good. Go away. I'm sleeping." Instead he kissed her. She responded sleepily to his persistent lips until she was fully awake. "Valdis, now I'll never get to sleep!" she whined. Maria looked around for her dog. "Ceberus," she ordered, "attack him. Go ahead, attack!" Instead her protector merely stared at the hand that pointed at smirking Valdis. "You got me a defective dog," she complained as she scrambled out of bed.

"The hell I did," he retorted. "You've been feeding him your vitamins, which, by the way, you will be taking yourself from now on." His soul mate merely rolled her eyes and headed for the shower. 

~*~*~*~

Anomina, Massachusetts

Faced with the final, "secret" ultimatum, their health teacher finally showed that she did, in fact, get a degree in education. Rita's hand ached with taking so many notes. Her class mates groaned as transparency after transparency were lined up on the over head. Kyros was nowhere to be found. Neither was Rik, and Jared had been called to an administrator for skipping school. And a disruptive student from the class next door had taken the seat behind her, snoring loudly.

That left one person of her acquaintance sitting near her. Not the ideal note taking buddy.

Rita looked up from her scribble filled page to find a folded piece of paper sitting on her desk. She opened the note and read:

****

So are you still mad at me?

Rita sighed at the immature mode of communication. The paper was obviously aged, coarse and yellowed. Curiously enough, it looked as if it would fit in the—or what she thought was—day planner in his pocket.

****

What do you think?

She carelessly threw the paper on his desk. A few moments later, he responded.

****

Well, one second you're ready to strangle me (impossible) and the next you don't care if I fall off the face of the earth.

Spheres don't have faces. That's why it's a sphere. But wait, isn't the earth egg shaped? Either way, no faces.

****

Gitana Rita, seriously. You run hot, then cold, then lukewarm. If you're going to pick an emotion with me, stick to it so I know how to handle it.

Which, Verity noticed, showed how little he knew of women. No woman, old soul or not, could ever choose an emotion and "stick to it." It was like asking a man color coordinate his notebooks to his shoes. 

Let me assure you right now, any emotion I'd have towards you wouldn't make you feel better. And that's why you're writing right now. To make yourself feel better. Having guilt is annoying, isn't it?

If you're still ready to strangle me, at least that means you acknowledge my existence. What guilt?

Besides the obvious?

If it was obvious, would I be asking?

Adrian. You promised her forever and gave five months. Someone did something wrong in that marriage, and hint: it wasn't Gitana.

So you're not mad that I hurt you, just that I neglected my vows.

Aside from the fact that hurting was neglecting your vows, not really. Husbands hitting their wives was an accepted thing back then. Gitana was just a little bit sheltered.

****

I know. 

****

I know you know. Why did you write me, again?

I suppose to see if there was a chance.

If you start singing "Reunited, and it feels so good," I will hurt you.

Gitana Rita, seriously. Is there?

Look you can't even let go of her. You didn't love her, but you still can't let go. I'm so far from Gitana's personality of course there's no chance.

Rita heard him heave a burdened sigh as he read her response.

Let me try to put this in your terms, Miss Literary Club founder. You're the heroine. I'm the dynamic character. You know, changes dramatically in the end.

I know what a dynamic character is. And you're not one. You're a foil to someone.

To who? There's no Charles Darnay around. ATOTC, you know.

Don't get that patronizing tone of writing with me. I've read Dickens you know, I have most of his novels.

I know. 

Rita stared at that one sentenced, not fully comprehending. True he had been in her house, in her library, once before. But her Dickens weren't in her library. She had packed all her Dickens books to make room for the satirists. They were sitting in a box in the basement. And she was sure he hadn't explored that part of the house, because he hadn't had time. 

****

Although that last statement disturbs me, I'm going to ignore it. You're a foil to…Jared.

I don't believe that.

Oh dear, you don't believe me. Gee, my life has no meaning now that my soul mate doesn't trust me. 

Even foil characters can be dynamic. Carton did.

Towards the end. This isn't the end.

****

When, exactly then, is the end? Should I schedule it?

Rita saw that, fittingly, her sarcasm was rewarded with sarcasm. 

The end is when you get your head chopped off by the guillotine. Maybe I'll name my kid after you.

Seriously, why?

Just because. She paused, unsure of her response. Then Rita decided honesty would be the best policy. **I think it might hurt to be with you.**

Why? You're older now, I know that. You said you don't hold a grudge about the past.

I don't know anything about you. The little I do know makes me I wish I didn't know you altogether. Understand?

Why?

****

Amaro. Ever wonder why we can't think to each other any more? Come on, think really hard…

Because it's weaker now?

Good job. It's some sort of sign, Adrian. Maybe we're really not meant to be together.

And yet you are so stubborn to explore that "maybe." Why?

Because to be with you would make me remember. And I want to stop remembering

Why?

Why do you keep asking? You didn't come here to find me any way. You're here on business. Business that would probably clash with any relationship (impossible) that we'd have.

I've been here on business before. Everything went smoothly. 

Rita glanced at Amaro sharply. For some reason, the words were familiar. But not something that Gitana Benevita heard. Rita shook off the fuzzy memories.

****

Do you want a certificate? Here.

Adrian Amaro

Best Business Man & Worst Husband

Signed by Verity Glisscielle

You're hilarious. Rita could almost hear the sarcasm in the words scrawled on the piece of paper.

The dismissal bell rang, and as Rita filed out of the class room with Bryan by her side, she idly threw away the piece of paper. No need for evidence.

With special permission from the principal, Rita missed her student's aide's session to oversee design proposal in the gym. It seemed that all the committee members had their vision of what the Soiree should be, but Rita alone had to decide. The smell of sweat and stale popcorn greeted her as she entered the gym. The bleachers were conveniently pulled out, and as Rita sat on the first bench and shuffled through the ideas, Rik sauntered up to sit next to her. 

They watched the last basket ball players struggle and finally give up their game. The entire gym was empty, leaving litter and echoes behind.

"So what happened at the meeting?" she asked finally.  


"Fayth called Keller, being the only one to kill a dragon without Wild Power…power. And Keller, who by the way has a toddler so might not be totally sane, said that we'd probably need a shifter. I'd call that damn, irrational shifter pride. We have two vampires here and we need a _shifter_?"

"Kyros?" Rita asked as Rik leafed through her papers.

"He and Quinn were preoccupied. But a fox against a dragon? I don't like the odds. Oh come on," he laughed, pausing at Samantha Rochert's idea. "If we have a Survivor themed Soiree, I'm going to impeach you."

"It beats the Flintstones," Jared retorted from the far end of the basket ball courts. Not liking the time it would take to walk to them, Jared became not Jared. Rita watched amazed as a mahogany colored wolf sped towards them, stopping mere inches away from Rik's foot.

"Quit showin' off, jack ass," Rik said, annoyed. Jared's response was a punch on the arm.

There was some time of reviewing all suggestions and laughing at half of them. Jared suggested an "Mountain Woods" theme, but the idea was rejected. He had no idea how much a huge, artificial forest would cost.

"Rik?" Rita asked after some time, "How do you kill a dragon?"

Vampire and werewolf exchanged uneasy looks. It wasn't normal to see a girl so calm about killing off her soul mate. "You cut off his horns," he finally answered.

"And he dies?"

Jared shook his head. "You make it possible for him to die. It's like…taking Batman's utility belt away so you could beat his molesting ass."

"Who'd he molest?" Rik asked, curious.

"Duh, man, Robin. No teenage guy wears spandex unless he's persuaded into it."

Rita looked from one handsome face to another. How could boys sit there, talking about comic book heroes as if they were discussing world events?

"Hello! I thought we were discussing Anomina's potential unibomber."  


"Oh yeah," Jared exclaimed and Rik laughed aloud. 

"Don't worry about it. We've eliminated unibombers before. Everything went smoothly."  


Rita frowned. That was what Adrian wrote. And somebody else…Adrian, but not Adrian?… said before. Why on earth was that so familiar?

All three heads snapped up at the sound of the door closing. Rita felt the boys beside her tense. Rik, to her right, even stood up, acting as if he were ready to pounce on the dragon.

Adrian Amaro was _swaggering_ in. There was an unbelievably arrogant smile on his face. He stopped short ten feet away from them. Rita had seen that smile before, but not on Adrian.

"Hi Rita," his nearly black eyes focusing on her alone. "Has anybody called you Ritz?"

No.

Fucking.

Way.

Adrian's smile widened at her apparent recognition.

__

Mother, Oscar isn't short. He's tall and he's my soul mate. Rita remembered the note from last period. 

Adrian's mind followed her own. "That's right. Everything went smoothly. Best Businessman, after all."

Rita felt two pairs of eyes turn to her questioningly. Unaware of her actions, she stood and slowly stood closer to the vampire. Her green eyes searched Adrian's face. It couldn't be. There was no way. It made no sense.

"Rita?" Verity turned to the new voice, and for a moment the world got even more confusing. There were two Adrians. One was standing ahead of her, another was at the door. But then she blinked. And the world made sense again. Did Rik see that?

Because it wasn't Adrian at the door. It was Ophelia. Adrian was standing in front of her, still smiling. He shouldn't have been smiling. After all, Melissa couldn't smile any more. 

"You son of a bitch," Rita growled slowly, making sure he understood every word. And before Rik or Jared could respond to her inexplicable swearing, Rita grabbed Rik's gun from his pocket.

"You god damn…"

Rita had no idea how to handle a gun. But she was always a fast learner.

"Little…"

It took a lot more force than she expected to pull the trigger. But she did it. Adrian's body jerked once. Anger gave her the strength of a million men, but the rational thinking of none.

"Bastard." She shot him again, this time the bullet went straight into the neck. 

"How dare you…" Verity thundered, still advancing, still shooting so that nobody could hear over the firing… 

Adrian was still standing. He shouldn't have been standing. Melissa couldn't stand without some help.

"Hurt"

__

Bang.

"My"

__

Bang.

"Sister." _Bang, Bang, Bang._ Three bangs meant she had to take care of her sister. And she did. She did.

~*~*~*~

Jared had never been shocked in his entire life. But this time he was. 

Verity Glisscielle just shot her soul mate with regular old bullets. The soul mate was lying on the ground. Or rather, Jared thought that the soul mate was lying on the ground. Because in an instant, the body and blood disappeared. Neither Rik nor Rita noticed. 

Jared had never been afraid in his entire life. Again, this time he was.

Verity Glisscielle wasn't insane. Overachieving, yes. Stressed, naturally. But she wasn't insane, because Jared had already pegged her as the most sensible girl he had ever met. And he usually wasn't wrong with first impressions.

So why was the most sensible girl standing there with maniacal fury written all over her face? Her chest was heaving, legs wobbling as if she couldn't stand any more. She simply stayed there. With a look in her emerald eyes that scared Jared shitless.

Even Rik was hesitant to approach her. But the vampire did, Jared had to applaud his best friend for that. When Rik laid his hand on her shoulder, Jared held his breath and wondered if the girl would chew it off like a rabid animal. Instead, Rita sighed, looking more confused than he felt. She dropped the gun. 

He heard sniffling from where he sat. Rita was crying. Why? Did the mention of Nabisco snacks always throw the girl in a psychological loop? What happened if they mentioned cereals?

Unsure of what to do, Rik awkwardly pulled Rita in an embrace. "What are you supposed to do, Rik?" Jared heard her say softly. "What are you supposed to do when the one who was supposed to save you…turns out to be the one who put you in distress?"

It sounded as if Verity needed a break, Jared decided. That's what happened to over achievers, having break downs like that. Like Mariah Carey. Rik agreed and allowed Jared to drive her home.

~*~*~*~

Jared even tucked her into bed. Rita giggled in her dark room as he did so, probably increasing his worry for her. She hadn't been tucked into bed in a long time. The werewolf tucked in the blankets nonchalantly, though, as if the recent events hadn't disturbed him at all.

"Jared?"

His deep chocolate eyes flickered up as he fluffed her pillows. It wasn't a gesture of thoughtfulness; it was just that he had tucked her in a little tightly. Almost as if he didn't want her to get out.

Rita envied him. His state of mind, or lack thereof, that was so relaxed. She was jealous of a boy who, presently, had no hope of graduating high school. "Jared? Are you ever bothered by anything?"

"Well," he sighed as he sat on her bed, "Quinn's been bugging me about the money I owe him—"

"No," she shook her head. "But really bothered. Troubled for years on end. You're so—so _accepting_ of everything—"

"Aren't you?" he parried, visibly tensing.

"I accept things," she admitted. "But I don't settle. You seem to." He shrugged and rose, heading for the door.

"I guess," he confessed as he paused at the door way, almost completely introverted, "that you just learn to settle. I didn't get everything my way. My family went one way on the Battle, I went the other. I have an apartment, my freedom, and my car; I settled for that."

"So…" she said as she struggled to turn to him. Her blanket might as well have been a straight jacket. "You gave up a happy ending to get what you have now?"

Jared, being Jared, swiftly left the excursion into his past. Another curt shrug. "Rik's almost a brother any way. Sleep in tomorrow, okay Rita? I'll take care of it." She didn't even hear his footsteps as he left.

Rita reviewed.

Four years ago, a drug dealer had influenced her sister. And then got her into a car accident. Melissa Glisscielle was permanently affected, while the drug dealer died.

And that was a wrong words; died. Very, very, very wrong word. 

Just before Christmas, the drug dealer reappeared then. Except he wasn't Oscar any more, he was Adrian Amaro. Here on secret business, and also to woo his former wife and current soul mate. 

__

Why did Adrian get hurt? Her curious mind persisted. He had been shot before, but didn't fall. Rita had asked Jared this as he tucked the blankets around her, but he merely shrugged. The werewolf had no idea. 

The positive aspects of this situation were this: some new friends. The negative aspects were this: those same new friends. They made her laugh, that was true. But it just seemed that, ever since the Daybreakers came and Rik and Jared finally noticed her, nothing but trouble had ensued.

It wasn't their fault, she knew that now. But they would go away eventually, or the relationship would change. Or she would die and go live in another life, where comforting stolid Jared didn't live. Everything changed. The only person to count on was yourself. 

Jared was sweet. But how long would he stay that way? Or Bryan for that matter. No, tomorrow she wouldn't sleep the whole day through. She had responsibilities to take care of. People to confront.

~*~*~*~

So Verity went to school. She skipped the class in which she saw _him_. Rik, when passing her the hallway, had said _he_ survived. Of course he did, she returned, he's a dragon. And Ophelia didn't remember anything, he had added. 

The town square was just large enough for a fair. Rita surveyed the size, just ten minutes after school ended. There were a thousand students at her school, so three bucks a head would cover the last minute splurge her team had idiotically committed. _Without_ her permission.

"Let's see…booths from last years play. Costumes from last year's play. Thank god for Carousel." This way the cost would be much lower than profit. Her committee would pay for their little shopping spree by "volunteering" as the booth operators. She turned at the sound of her name, and saw Ophelia running up to meet her. Out of breath, the chubby girl stood there panting for a few moments until she began.

"Hi! I just…needed…to…ask you a favor," she panted out. Rita smiled and nodded for her to continue. "Can you get me on Student Council?"

"It's a little late," Rita explained reluctantly. 

"I know, I know. But I just found out I can't get into French Club because I don't take a French class any more. And my dad says I need an extracurricular activity for college applications. Please," she pleaded. Ophelia attempted a sad puppy face, only succeeding in making her look like a pitiful Cabbage Patch doll. But Rita commiserated, understanding the pressure of college.

"All right," she conceded. "You can start by typing up a memo to the other members. Write this down," she instructed, handing over the clipboard. "Fair on Olde Town Square. This weekend. You're the volunteers. Three bucks a ticket. Don't worry," Rita assured at Ophelia's stricken face, "you don't have to if you don't want to."

Idly they began walking the perimeter of the square. Rita informed the new girl of the historical facts of each store, the old water pump, and the old town hall. A frozen slice of Americana, as Bryan called it. Ophelia listened politely. Taking a sidelong glance at her new acquaintance, Rita contemplated her next decision. This was her only, normal, human friend. "Normal" being the ideal word. 

"Ophelia? Can I confide in you?"

The shorter girl was a bit surprised by the proposition. "Sure. But only if I can confide in you, too."

Rita nodded. "What do you think of a girl who would date a guy just to get information on him? As in, no real, fuzzy feelings for him?"

"Oh! Is this about Kelly and Anthony and Louise? Because I heard about that when Bob Steve told me—"

"No. This isn't about that. Just listen. She thought that he didn't like her like that, but it turns out that he does, so now everything's complicated… Well, what should she do?"

Ophelia rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "She should try to like the guy first. Then, if she doesn't like him, tell him. That way she gets a clear conscience. There! Bow to the goddess of good advice," she giggled. Rita even giggled herself. She never giggled. Maybe being this friendship was a good idea after all.

But the confiding session was cut short when Bryan's Land Cruiser arrived. With a quick goodbye, Rita settled next to Bryan, taking his offered jacket as they drove away. So she'd try to like Bryan. That was that. The Goddess of good advice said so.

~*~*~*~

Rashel encountered Kyros as he left the apartment. He didn't even vouchsafe a smart ass grin. Instead he threw her a guilty, shamed look and walked away. Confused, she entered Fayth's apartment to find an equally guilty look on her soul mate's handsome face. 

"What happened? Where's Kyros going? Why weren't you two at school?"

Quinn groaned, sounding much older and tired than he appeared to be. "We've…talked. Kyros has been plotting, Rashel. Using Rita, putting her in danger…all against our orders."

"What did you do?" Rashel demanded, her concern growing by the second.

"I know he's been on his own for a while. But he was under our leadership, this time, Rashel. He should have followed our rules."

"Kyros' life is the mission," Rashel murmured. "He told me that himself. He's got his bike, his family, and the mission. What did you do?"

"If his life is the mission, he should have followed the rules. Do you know what he's been saying about us? Explains why some people are so reluctant to cooperate with the 'incest' couple—"

"What. Did. You. Do?"

Quinn met Rashel's dark gaze with his own challenging stare. "Honorably discharged."

"Quinn!" Ouch. Quinn winced, for she hadn't used his Christian name. "This was our mission. Our agents. You don't go around discharging people without my permission!"  


"I assumed you'd do the same thing," he replied curtly. Her voice became equally cold.

"You assumed wrong. He was our friend, Quinn."  


"He made a mistake—"  


"And if I do? Will you fire me too?" He shook his head. This wasn't how he pictured her reaction. Rashel shrugged, exasperated. "I'm going to go find him."

"Don't. You repeal my order, then you undermine my authority," he reasoned just as the phone rang. By the time he looked up from it, Rashel was gone. The phone call was from Boston.

~*~*~*~

She let the silence in the car stretch for too long. When she turned off the radio, Bryan hadn't said a word. He didn't ask, or look towards her. Instead he waited.

Rita took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. Hopefully expelling any nervousness. "Bryan…I've been using you." The vampire smiled and, as if he couldn't help it, laughed. Ignoring the sound, she continued, "We thought you had something to do with the upcoming potential massacre, so…well you know. Our rekindled friendship was just convenient, because you became a suspect and…I had to… find out."

He didn't smile now. Rita wondered vaguely if she just signed her own death certificate. "Is that why you came over the other night?" he asked in a hard voice, his pale face unreadable.

"No," she answered truthfully, staring down at her hands. "I was scared of Adrian. You were the only one I thought I could go to."

"To investigate?" he pushed. "To see if I had any TNT in my closet?"

Rita shook her head, shocked to feel tears in her eyes. Again, she didn't like this new feeling of letting people down. "No," she repeated, this time her voice was shaky. "I just thought…you were using me too. I didn't think you really liked me." Once said aloud, it didn't seem like a very good reason. 

"Why not? I explained everything, Verity. I explained everything in the girl's bathroom." He shook his head, lips curled in disgust, as his eyes remained on the road. "I asked you because you weren't like them. And you knew about me and didn't freak out. I thought you were smarter than the rest."

"I'm sorry." Why did she think this was going to be easy? It was anything but. Before, ever since they were kids, he had accepted and forgiven her mistakes in a condescending sort of way. As if it wasn't her fault she wasn't as quick or strong or coordinated as he was. But they were all grown up now. "I thought you'd understand."

"Why? It's not everyday a human girl I'm actually interested in turns out to be as manipulative as my own species. Am I supposed to understand that?"

"No," she mumbled weakly. Her vision, filmed with tears, focused on the speedometer. Seventy and rising.

"And to think I was actually excited about the damn dance. I was going to pay for anything so you could go. The damn dress, the damn limo, the damn tickets… which, by the way, cost way too much this year. Tell your little committee _that_."

"Bryan…could you slow down please?"

"Rita. Think about it. My mom leaves me. My dad moves away without telling me, sending checks every month. My little sister tries to kill me weekly. Don't you think I'd have trust issues?"  


"We're going at ninety, Bryan."

"And now, the one girl who I decide is great tells me that she's not so great. I think I deserve to go to ninety-five, dammit." He cursed again when his cell phone rang, thus ruining his angry rant. He only paused to answer and hang up.

"This is kinda fast…"

"I mean, come on! I had to get interested in you, you _must_ have seen it coming. You were the closest thing I had to a childhood friend. You're so freakin' smart it's scary. I gotta say getting a vampire pissed isn't too bright, but props on bravery. You are one of the few people I know who won't let their sob story be a sob story. And what do I get? 'Bryan, I've been using you.'"

"Really fast…"

"Dammit," he yelled again, for "his" cell phone rang again. And again he picked it up only to press the end button. "Why the hell do people keep calling me? Maybe they need something from me. You did, why not everybody else?"

"Bryan, slow down immediately. A hundred isn't the ideal speed to be at when you are obviously furious." Her voice was so commanding and reasonable and…so damn _calm_ that Bryan found himself complying.

"Why aren't you scared? You're supposed to be scared. You've got a pissed off vampire driving you to his house. But no. You've got to be the freakin' amazing Verity Glisscielle. And so damn mature. Why can't you be a normal sixteen year old human so I can get over you!?"

Rita felt terrible for smiling. She really, honestly, wanted the tears back again. But, well…Bryan looked so cute when he was angry. Just like during debates in Mr. Vicar's class. He was being impetuously furious and had no concrete argument. She was being calm and collected, and would inevitably win.

They pulled up to his ridiculously large mansion, and suddenly Rita wasn't apprehensive of being alone in it with Mr. I Suck Blood. She was certain he wasn't going to kill her. Apparently he seemed angrier with himself than her.

"Do you realize you are showing your rightful anger towards me by telling me how great I am?" Rita ventured with a little smile. Bryan grumbled something unintelligible as he distractedly got out and opened the door for her. Only when he retrieved both their backpacks did he realize that he was supposed to be mad at her. With a frustrated growl, he dropped the sack on the concrete.

"Open your own damn doors. And carry your own damn book bags. And…"

"Do something that involves the word 'damn'?" Rita suggested as she stooped to retrieve her bag. "Look. You're not really mad at me. All right, so you are and you have every right to be. But you didn't let me finish. The Goddess of Good Advice said that I should try to really like you. And guess what? I kinda already sorta do."

Bryan stopped his search for the ever elusive house key. His lava eyes leveled at her. "I jump with joy," he responded in a flat voice. He even did a little, depressing jump before resuming his search. Rita frowned.

"But do you still like me?" she persisted. Bryan's answer was a dark look as he turned over a flower pot. "Do you?"

"Would you be standing here on my porch if I didn't like you?" he retorted. Rita smiled and watched Bryan break the window he had replaced days earlier. She won the debate. He continued, however, "This is just so wrong. I know you don't have the perfect life, Rita. But you're getting off easy, again. You just don't realize how many times people do this for you, do you?"

Rita stared at his back as he climbed into the window. It wasn't true. He didn't know anything about it.

The moment they entered his home, the phone rang. "My, my, aren't we popular?"

Bryan, taking on the familiar irritation that usually came after debating defeat, glared and answered it, this time waiting for the hello. He sighed tiredly and handed the phone to the puzzled girl on his couch, attempting a French novel.

"It's for me?"

"Of course it is. It's not like anybody would call pathetic, misused, abused, manipulated Bryan Smith," he answered and wandered into the kitchen.

It was Quinn. "How did you get Bryan's number?"  


"He steals cell phones, I steal address books. Life's funny like that." His voice was rough, and oddly strained. The kind of voice used to bear bad news. Oh dear. Jared had told her Kyros had gotten in trouble with Quinn earlier today. Maybe that was it.

"I'm laughing so hard I'm reduced to tears. Is this about Kyros?"

"No." He cleared his throat. Rita frowned; Quinn was not the type to clear his throat, or stall. "I got a call from Boston just now."

"Oh, really?" she asked, disinterested. "How's mom?" She didn't ask about Melissa. Her older sister would always be the same, in Boston or on Mars.

"I hate stalling like this. But…there's been an accident." He tripped strangely over the last word.

"Accident?" she repeated dumbly, letting the novel drop. A bad feeling sprang in her chest, and began spreading throughout her body. "In Boston?"

"Yes."

"With my mom and my sister?"

"Yes."

"In cars?"

__

He can't say yes, Rita thought numbly. The Glisscielle's had the worst luck with cars. Even walking led to some sort of trouble. But cars…

"Yes."

Rita stood, ignoring the lump in her throat. "Are they…"

__

Where's Melissa? Melissa should take care of this.

"Gone," he finished for her. Compassionate and final. 

__

Or Mother? Mother would know what to do.

__

They're not coming back Rita. Not ever. Not. Ever.

"Why?," she rasped out. It seemed to be the only thing to come to mind. "_Why_?"

"They went out to dinner. All of them. Sister, mother, supposedly disowning relative. It appears that the limo driver visited the bar too…"

"Darn those limo drivers and bars. First Princess Di and now my family…" Her voice hitched on her false laugh. Her voice didn't feel like her own. It whimpered and squeaked and hitched. She couldn't control her own_ voice_.

Rita sat back on the couch, one hand placed tightly over her eyes. "Now's not the time to cry, is it?" she asked brokenly. "I've got to think of funeral arrangements, life insurance, custody…" Her voice broke again, and she squeezed her eyes tighter. She just needed to keep the tears in.

"No, Rita, no. We're going to take care of that. Are you okay?"

"I…I just can't…" 

__

Breathe. 

Think. 

Function without my mom. 

__

Live any more. "…talk right now. I've gotta go." On the other side of town, Quinn heard a beep and the dial tone.

Dead. Her family was dead. They weren't coming back.

__

Ever.

What was this pain in her chest? Was it possible to have a heart attack at sixteen? Yes, the pain told her. Yes it was.

"Rita? Rita, what's wrong." Bryan stared at her worriedly.

Nothing…no, wait, everything. Cars. Alcohol. This premature cardiac arrest.

"Rita, calm down. Rita, take a deep breath. Rita _inhale_, one big breath." But she didn't. All her respiratory system seemed capable of was those short, shallow gasps, while her hands pinched and squeezed each other obsessively. 

Who cares about breathing when your world ends?

"Rita, you keep gasping like that you're going to pass out. That leads to brain damage…maybe death. I mean I know how you're fascinated with it and all…," she heard Bryan plead, desperate humor in his voice.

__

Then I can be with my family. No wait…then I'd move on to a different body.

"Rita, here, lie down."

__

Was mommy lying down? On some cold slab of steel, in a dark drawer, filed away like my college brochures? What about Melissa? Melissa never lied down around this time. This was her snack time.

"Rita, stay here. I'm going to call the paramedics."

This shouldn't be the time for tears. Everything was just so wrong. Somebody had to go make it right again. 

"But it doesn't have to be me," she told herself. This is what happened when she tried to take charge. Allowing the Daybreakers to send them away. She basically killed them. If she tried to take charge again, Rita was sure some other tragedy would occur. 

She quietly tip toed past Bryan, who was frantically arguing with the emergency operator. 

The wind outside was cool. Indifferent to her bleary eyes and little protection. Like damn drunk drivers. The clouds slowly swallowed up the harsh sun. The upcoming storm clouds gave everything an unnatural greenish, grayish tint.

Rita swore off alcohol and tobacco as she ambled down the drive way. It wasn't fair. Her father knew what was coming, he chose to smoke. But mother and Melissa didn't imbibe anything. And they died. It wasn't fair at all. 

The gate was tricky. No code, and that was the only way to open it. As she stood there, contemplating what to do, a Mustang pulled up to the front. 

Kyros didn't say one word. She watched silently as he left the car, walked up to her, and broke Bryan Smith's gate. It was like watching Superman bend the bars to help a buddy out of jail. Except the buddy didn't care if she rotted in jail. And Superman was miserable. 

They sat in the car for a few seconds, without saying a word. Like the one in Bryan's car. Except she didn't want to talk, and he didn't feel like listening. Ye Old Town Square was blurring past them when he finally muttered, "I just got fired."

Rita nodded. It didn't sound like the end of the world, but by the sound of his voice, Rita could tell it was the end of his. "My family just died. Well, not just. But they are. They have been."

Kyros nodded. They reached the beginning of a foreboding road, bare and lifeless under the threatening clouds. Rita had never been past this point.

Because her family had always been there. She had never needed anything else. She had never hoped of anything else. 

Mommy and Melissa were never coming back. Ever. Her library was full of books written by people who never knew real sadness, real excitement, or real endings. A million and a half clubs in an anonymous school. Hundreds of people who needed her for something, some random program that needed her supervision. A few people who wanted to know her, but who never really would. Bryan. Jared. Ophelia. They never would. All her work for her family. All for nothing.

The edge of Anomina. There was even that corny sign that told them to come back soon. Bull shit. Kyros wished he never came and made a mental note that, in the unlikely event that he ever did return, he'd burn that damn sign down. 

"We're going to New York." Rita gave a tentative smile, hands still pinching each other but a calmer speed. The Mustang roared in agreement with the new destination. 

"I've never been to New York." Technically, she had never been outside of Anomina, but now was not the time to think of that. Now was not the time to think of anything at all. 

~*~*~*~

****

I must not laugh, nor weepe sinnes, and be wise,

Can railing then cure these worn maladies?"

John Donne's Satyre III

Sorry about the notes; just got tired of plain talking or the necessary contact for mental communication. Y'all must think I'm some sorta sadist for doing this to her…but, it's necessary, I swear on my…car manual. Will you accept that? Car manuals are very important, after all… Oh, and should I make my chapters shorter? Are these long chapters daunting? 


	7. Changes

I know, I know, I'm an evil harpy of a girl for the delay. My excuse? Not even anything noble, like giving charity or running a donation center…Senior Week. Some of you may not care for the school system, and neither do I…but when you get the chance for late night out Senior activities…fan fiction sorta slips from your mind. I'm so, very, really, terribly, very (I said that all ready) sorry for the wait!

Ya see, I know y'all like the long chapters, and this was a short chapter so…I inflated it with stuff. Meaningless drivel. None-too-witty dialogue. But I saw the not impressive number of pages on Word and I just had to extend it. This is just my apology ahead of time. Plus, that last chapter was such a downer. This chapter should be a higher~~~ does that make sense?

****

Lilith: Gee, I feel all extra special. I'm glad (I think I use that word too much, but anyways…) that you relate to the characters. It sorta annoys me when the main character is graceful, stunning, tall, enchanting, polite…most things I can't really relate to. I figured we needed a girl who stumbles, doesn't quite hold her tongue and blah. The boys are special too (aren't they always?) Oh god, isn't he? (Adrian, I mean…about him being cool) There is always something about a bad boy that always makes you want to change him…or maybe that's my James Dean complex. All right, that's it and thank you very much for the review!!

****

Aife Bisclaveret: Rule number one: no apologizing for not reviewing. Because then I may not review yours in the future (accidentally of course) and then I'll just be a hypocrite…so no apology-thingies. Oh and YAY for you for finding the whole clam chowder thing! I thought nobody would get it! Of course it's intentional, and I thought it was pretty funny…

I don't think you're unobservant; I didn't want to put in the whole lumps during the kiss because, hey, how romantic are lumps? Lips, lust, lumps? Nope, doesn't flow the way I want it to. Any who, poor Night World people and marriage. Just can't keep it together! Besides, Valdis' excuse is his first wife wasn't his soul mate. And Adrian…Adrian's just screwed up. 

Honey, if Jared didn't play a major role in the plot, I'd transplant _myself_ and steal him away. Of course, Rita's half fallen in love with him already (and who would blame her) but there is this whole NY complication. Adrian's not that hateable, and I wouldn't blame you for liking him. Doesn't care to please anybody, and I like that. 

Oh and Fayth is the one from the Chosen. She seemed sorta compliant in that book though, so I boosted her feminist gene just a tad. Brilliant deduction, Aife! Happy trails! 

Skylark: HA, the element of surprise. Ain't it a bitch? I know it, poor Kyros and poor Rita. Whoever did this to them should be burned and hanged…wait that's me! Scratch that! Life will improve though, comparatively, any ways. I hope that's enough for now. :0)

Practikalmagik: Poor thing! Didn't meant to depress you! Terribly sorry!! And, as mentioned before, Rita's family would get in the way of the plot later on. I know, it's mean, but…aw, I'm sorry! It sounds sorta mean now. People don't walk down the street and say, "Hey, let's kill this family so the plot will be less complicated." Bad Adelaide, bad, bad, bad. And, for the consideration of the readers, I don't think this chapter has any more sad bits!

Neona-deniker: Aw, shucks…you're a keeper-upper. Kudos to you, I'm never consistent with reviews. Trying though! Oh, it's all right if you have a long review, they're fun to get. 

Any who, glad to see the whole death thing didn't bother ya. But hey, don't everyone love a good conflict? Yeah, I know, no family or anything…but, sooner or later, she would have shed them any way. Sounded like she was trying to escape, didn't it? Yeah, the whole drug accident…will be explained later! Insert evil cackle

Hee-hee, the whole Kyros/Valdis thing won't be ultra violent (as much as Valdis would hope) because we will always have dependable, sensible women to play referee. Besides, Valdis and Maria are too mutually spiteful to bother with anybody else. Stinky punks.

I think the time frame will stay the same, short or long, so it'll just be short. And, trust me, there's no point in telling me to relax about the SAT's. First time I took it, I threw up before I drove there…er, you didn't want to know that, did you? Never mind, I'll just do my whole obsessive-anal retentive-SAT thing and hope for the best. Thanks for all the encouragement!!! Jeez that sounded cheesy…ew, bad cheese…

NatalieNJS: I hope by the little scrolly thingy you see that I didn't shorten the chapter! Always happy to make the readers happy (I would have said "customers" instead of readers, but then I realized you're not paying and it sounded sorta prostitute-y…or maybe I'm a perv. Never mind!) It's all right about not reviewing, I forget to review my fave stories some times too. Did ya get the whole "Ritz" thing? I liked it too, but then again, I'm a bit biased. All right, hope this didn't waste your time! :0)

Zabella: All right, point taken, no orten-shay the apters-chay. It's just that I read some other fanfic that said long chapters are a pain so I panicked…sorry for making it so sad! This one oughta lighten things up. Thanx!

Fin: Thanks for the advice! I'm exactly the same way—really great stories just tie me up in knots when the chapters are uber short. Yay, first time I've been labeled as unpredictable—I was afraid things were too foreshadow-y. Now, I'm sure everybody would love more Jared and Bryan scenes, but…er, well…they're not exactly the main characters. They're catalysts, you know, but of course they'll occur more and more in the story. Plus they play important roles.

I laughed out loud when you described the Glisscielle's deaths. I mean, that was the reason I "offed" them…it sounds so Mafia-ish. :0) I'm so happy that you're happy with the story so far, despite the crappy situations, and I hope you like this chapter, despite the crappy situations. Bye!

Martha: Yikes, kinda scary there. Aw, that was sad, no smiley face. But, I do understand why there is that facial absence, and it is necessary because, in the later plot, the family would totally get in the way. And, I hope this was soon enough. I've never had hate mail and I hope it stays that way.

Vague Verity

Chapter 7

****

"Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box,

~*~*~*~

New York, New York 

The car trip…Rita couldn't remember it. As they slowly moved through New York City traffic, she couldn't conjure anything from the ride. She knew that they stopped every so often, but she didn't know what she did during those times. Sit, maybe, and think. Or sleep. Whatever they did, it must have taken a long time. What should have been a four hour trip had taken them a full twenty four. Bright shafts of sun slipped between the high towers, greeting the fox home. 

Rita turned to the driver. Kyros appeared lost in his own thoughts. He occasionally snapped out of his daze to yell obscenities or glare at anybody who leered at Rita or his car. Kyros didn't like anybody who checked out his car.

They parked it in a friend's private garage. After he had covered with a tarp, he took Rita's arm in his own and with the other hand fished for a cigarette. Rita didn't approve of smoking but helped Kyros with the lighter any way. His large hands were shaking. And she refused to believe it was because he was colder than she was.

Did he regret it? God, she hoped not. Because, even though she should have, Rita wasn't regretting anything. The overwhelming urge to just leave couldn't have been ignored. 

"Kyros?" she panted, and watched her breath in the cold air, "do you regret it? Leaving, I mean."

He didn't answer. Instead, he quickened his pace, turning here and there without warning her. "I didn't make ya leave, Rita. If you wanted to turn back, you shoulda done it 'round Boston." Kyros immediately winced when he mentioned the city. He remembered Rita started crying as soon as she saw the name on the exit sign. Her family was somewhere there. In a drawer, as she incoherently explained when he pulled her closer.

Already, her voice was hitching. If she was going to cry, they might as well sit down so that nobody would think he hurt her in some way. Kyros sighed and pulled them both to sit on a stoop. It seems as if neither of them were very stable at the moment. He shook his head and laughed. He honestly didn't know why.

"I'm sorry…for mentioning it, I mean." 

Rita sniffed and was glad he didn't say anything about being sorry for their deaths. For some reason, that was inconceivable. That just meant…well, she didn't know what, but she just didn't want to hear about that. To hear that someone was sorry for her sister while Melissa was alive hurt enough; Glisscielle pride wouldn't allow apologies for two people. "I don't regret it," she told him, to test her voice. Not as shaky as she expected. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't."

"Nah," he replied, his bad mood lightening by the second, "We're in New York, Rita! This is ten times better than any small town with it's own town square. We could go to Time Square and tell Carson to go to hell! Aren't you happy?" Kyros tried his best to sound jovial, and he pulled Rita to her feet.

"Not really. Carson Daly hasn't done anything to me. Is that where we're going?" she asked as they plodded on. He shook his head. It appeared his effort to cheer her up succeeded in only cheering himself up.

"Nope. We're goin' to Ma's."

"Is that a restaurant?" Again, she was panting. The fox was very fast paced when he was happy. They took some more turns.

"No," he laughed, confused by her question. "It's my ma's. My mother. And here we are." Rita looked to a three story house, squeezed between carbon copy houses. 

"The bottom two stories are ours. Come on." He insistently tugged her up the stairs and then knocked loudly on the door, the buzzer being broken.

"They won't mind me staying?" she asked through chattering teeth. Kyros tried to warm her by enveloping her with his jacket. The one she had worn to Buffington's party.

"Hell no. Come to think of it, there aren't any lights on. God, Rita, why didn't you tell me?" Verity refrained from pointing that Kyros had two very capable eyes himself. He did drive her, after all. 

"Wait," he said suddenly, as if she were in a hurry to leave. The Yankees jacket withdrew its warmth as he pulled away, and, again, tugged her along without any explanation. Rita tried desperately to keep a tight grip as he wove through the labyrinth of concrete. She had never seen so much people at one place, all so busy and so indifferent. Was it possible that in Anomina, there was a special time warp that slowed everybody's pace?

They finally stopped at a cobble stoned corner. Rita, not caring where they had landed, rested on a bench, to catch her breath and wipe the beginnings of sweat. Kyros, however, was still terribly excited.

"What the f—" Rita cleared her throat. "…hell?"

"That's still a bad word," she protested. He shrugged.

"It's a church," he pointed out, watching the building before them. Rita nodded in agreement, because the cross was a dead give away. That and the steeple, the stained glass windows, and the chiming bells. "You don't get it," he continued. "We don't go to church. No offense. My dad just thinks it's conformity. He says Christians are called sheep for a reason."

"Kyros!"

"I said no offense!"

Before she could reply, the holy double doors burst open, releasing a large red headed clan and a large crowd of young people. They were tossing rice up—or, rather, at each other once one of the twenty somethings offended one of the red haired women. All grain belligerence halted once the double doors opened again, revealing marital paradise.

They would have made a very admirable couple—young, beautiful, bathed by the blessed sunlight—had they not been frowning. 

"Fu—" The short, dark haired girl suddenly realized whose stoop they stood on, and dragged the groom down the steps and nearly directly in front of Kyros and Rita.

"Fuck, Valdis, you stepped on my train!"

"You tripped me when it was time to go!"

"Because you _stepped_ on my _train_," she reiterated with a stamp of her delicate foot. Beyond them, Rita could see the crowd dumbfounded as to what to do with the rice. Some red haired children were unwisely feeding them to the pigeons. 

"Maria," the taller red haired man thundered. "Nobody made you get a train. You wanted one." Kyros, visibly irritated, wandered to a pretzel stand.  


"Yeah, well," Maria faltered. "You wanted a church wedding. Now I'll have to divorce you lawfully _and_ religiously! Valdis Eldson, the freakin' moron who can't keep off his wife's dress!" Each word was emphasized by a slap on each cheek. 

"What does that make you?" he countered.

Maria battered him with her white rose bouquet for good measure. A few petals fell tragically. "Maria Tybal, woman who tolerates freakin' moron!"

"Maria Tybal _Eldson_," he corrected smugly.

"Damn Eldsons," she claimed heatedly, not caring if she damned herself. 

Rita, pausing for a bit, noticed that Maria's chantilly lace dress was actually very pretty, and to step on any part of it would have been a shame. Then she gratefully accepted a salty pretzel from Kyros, and made room for him on the bench.

"I didn't want a church wedding," he exclaimed. The crowd drew closer to the arguing marriage, some waving at Kyros as they did so. "_Your_ absent aunt wanted one. And you went along with it!"

"Yeah well, I didn't want to get knocked up. But your swimmers just went along with it!"

The surrounding persons gave a collective gasp. Kyros's pretzel fell to the dirty side walk. Verity, the only one unaffected, guessed by Maria's wince that this union wasn't entirely out of pure love.

Maria bit her pretty lip as she turned the crowd, back to Kyros and Verity. "Oh," she giggled, ironically innocent-sounding. "I'm…pregnant." Rita wouldn't have been able to tell, considering the woman's petite figure. Glancing to her left, she saw that Kyros was in the same shocked state as the rest of them.

Still trying to salvage their enthusiasm, Maria giggled again. "Just think of it as two reasons to celebrate," she suggested brightly. They looked at another questioningly. "Um…"

Rita, by this time, saw no hope of reviving their formerly joyous attitude. Then the copper toned, squirming girl abruptly yelled, "Party at Snows!" Maria grabbed Valdis's hand and hopped into the nearest taxi cab. All eyes lit up at the word "party" and the formal audience followed suit, except for one thirty something woman with wholesome beauty and copper curls.

"Kyros," she said affably, engulfing Rita's friend with a great bear hug. "You know she would have invited you, but I told her you were on the mission."

Kyros leaned back against the bench, one hand running through his hair. The other arm was used to hug Rita's shoulders. "Ma," he sighed dismally. "Why didn't you call me and tell me she was getting married?"

Much to Rita's surprise, Mrs. Snow rapped her son's forehead. "She couldn't be your back up girl forever. Who's next on your list?" Verity frowned in confusion.

"Elizabeth Hurley," he muttered. His mother's brown eyes brightened considerably.

"Ooh, she'll give my grand children nice cheek bones. Of course," she added speculatively, turning to Rita. "This one would give the girls great hair." Kyros blushed to the roots of _his_ hair, suddenly remembering his guest.

"Ma, stop embarrassing me. This is Rita Glisscielle. Rita, this is my mother." They shook hands, yet Mrs. Snow never lost the calculating look. 

The matronly fox chatted affably as they strolled along the side walk, Kyros occasionally trying to hail a cab. "The circus is staying tomorrow—not the real circus, dear, just Kyros' bum pals who move from friend to friend. By the way, Ky, why are you home early? Is the mission over?"

Rita waited tensely for his answer. Instead, the women heard in reply, "C'mon ma, we gotta hurry if we're gonna make it to our party."

__

Way to change the subject, Rita thought as they climbed into the taxi.

~*~*~*~

The impromptu party lasted until seven in the morning, much to the disappointment of Rita, who was exhausted. She hadn't even met the couple of honor, who had left around eleven. All the sixteen year old learned from the hours long event was that virtually everyone in New York City, at least in this area, had a potty mouth.

"Get the hell outta my house," she heard Mr. Snow yell from the front door. "Damn it, Ruthie, they drank all the alcohol!" Ruthie was Kyros's mother. 

"That might have been one of the children," she called back. Rita silently wished Mr. Snow luck on finding out who. Kyros, she learned, was the oldest of six children and counting. She had been ready to drift off to sleep before a familiar grip landed on her hand. Kyros simply _had_ to introduce her to the circus, despite the ungodly hour. Half asleep, she stumbled down the stairs to the basement, which held a variety of good looking men. Had not Verity been wishing for a pillow and a blanket, she would have cared very much.

"Guys, this is Rita. Rita, that's dumb ass, stupid ass, candy ass, gay ass, and dill hole. The rest are too lame to have names." Rita neatly stepped away from him just as the projectiles were launched his way. "All right," he conceded once they ceased fire, "I was just kidding. That blond one's Virgil Woden." Virgil smiled slightly.

"The ugly one's Trojan Gris. Don't think we don't make fun of his first name." All the boys laughed, but none really claimed the identity. And Rita had no clue as to why they made fun of his first name. 

"Which ugly one?" Rita asked nervously. They laughed again, this time for her indirect insult, and suddenly she felt tremendously less afraid. A medium sized, yellow haired boy jumped up and shook her hand cheerfully, introduced himself as just "Tro" and gave Kyros a hard punch on the way back to his seat. Rita shook her head; she would never understand how male friendships automatically included insults and violence.

"The one with the funky blue hair is Ymir Woden, Virgil's cousin." It wasn't exactly "funky blue," Rita decided when Ymir nodded at her from his position directly in front of the big screen, it was more of a pleasant, winter sky blue. Vibrant, just like his eyes.

"The one with all the rip off jewelry is Khepri Vedas. He just moved here from Egypt, which means he sometimes talks trash about us without anybody knowing what the hell he's saying."

"And sometimes I just say shut the hell up, ya damn moron," Khepri replied pleasantly in an unaccented voice, and shook his shiny black hair out of his eyes. To Verity, he looked rather like a handsome ancient pharaoh, stolid and dangerous. Then it occurred to her that "handsome ancient pharaoh" might actually be on his résumé.

"Yup, that's his favorite. That's Geraint, Tristram, and Percivale Logres. They're triplets, in case you didn't notice." The triplets had sharp angled faces, with the hair sharing the color of hers in a crew cut. They, and Tro, were the only ones shorter than her. She was later told that Geraint wore glasses in an effort to disguise a false eye, which was a tragic result from the Battle. Tristram was the one with the thin scar running along his left jaw side, and Perci was, by his own words, "flawless." 

"Sit down, Rita Glisscielle," Khepri invited, wiping trash off the cushion next to him. "So how long have you and Kyros been going out?"  


She shook her head. "We're just friends. We met a few weeks ago in Anomina." Khepri looked at her blankly. "You know," she continued, "in Massachusetts, near Boston. On the mission—"

"Oh then, never mind. We never ask about his mission stuff. That's all his business," Khepri dismissed the subject easily. Rita glanced at Kyros, who was busy playing thumb war with Geraint. She wondered how they'd react to the news of his "honorable discharge" or if he'd ever tell them.

"So you're not dating anybody?" Tro asked curiously, as he lazily tossed card after card into an empty popcorn bowl placed on Ymir Woden's stomach. Rita guessed he was about twelve, but remarkably skilled with his aim.

Rita automatically thought of Jared, and then felt guilty for not automatically thinking of Bryan. "I wouldn't really know what you'd call it…" she answered truthfully, her confusion fully displayed on her face.

"Well, so long as you're technically not taken, there's a party tonight—"  


"Hey, shove it, Trojan," Kyros interjected, looking up from his thumb war and lost the battle. "Hands off this one." Rita looked quizzically from Tro to Kyros. She was ready to assure him that the little boy certainly wasn't hitting on her when Kyros explained, "He's tried to get with every woman I've dated. Like I'm his freakin' idol, or something. I'm this close to gettin' a restraining order."

"Oh yeah," Perci remembered aloud, with the same accent as Kyros, "I forgot to tell ya. I caught Tro when he was looking through your underwear drawer while you were gone. It was a weird 'Talented Mr. Ripley' kinda moment."

Perci received a mouthful of pillow for his lie, which drew lazy chuckles from his friends.

"The hell I did," Tro protested hotly. "Besides, all your women hit on me, saying they can't go no satisfaction."

Tristram threw another pillow, Rita guessed to his seconds younger brother. "You don't get to quote lame ass songs until your twenty one, ya hear me?"

"All his women?" Virgil teased further. Tro nodded. "Even Maria?"  


All boys had the same reaction to the name; apprehension and admiration.

"Well, maybe not Maria," Tro admitted. Mrs. Snow began to call them upstairs.

"Yeah, she's scary," Khepri agreed. "But, you know what?" Khepri added, addressing Kyros. "I think she paid my bar tab last week."

"How do you know it was her?" Ymir countered, flipping through the channels.

"All Al said was some black haired, short chick walked in and paid it after eating all his cashews."

"Hey, let's try to be politically correct here," Kyros warned, causing surprise among his friends. "Rita's here, so you say 'black haired short woman," he pointed out. "You can't swear or be politically incorrect." Rita smiled at him, thankful for his thoughtfulness, despite the fact he had ignored it before. From above, she could still hear Mrs. Snow calling for them.

Geraint frowned. "Are you really that PC? Cuz, just to warn you, we're not. At all. We'd probably offend half the hemisphere in ten minutes."

Kyros answered for her. "She's proper, guys, like a nun."  


"Man, what is with you and the spiritual girls? You date that cop, she joins a cult. You date the pretzel chick, she takes off for a spiritual journey. Now, you bring home a nun," Ymir scolded, but with the smallest of smiles.

"First of all, Wendy didn't join a cult, she just got more involved with her community," Kyros explained uneasily.

"An all white wearing, blood taking, night hours community," Virgil added to Rita, and then expected some sort of a response. She only frowned in puzzlement and asked:

"She became a nurse?" Khepri laughed aloud with his friends and gave Rita two hearty thumps on her knee. She frowned even more when his hand stayed there.

"I like her," Khepri declared. "She's a lot different from pretzel girl."

"Hey, she also sold sodas," Kyros defended his ex girl friend. "And her name was Calley."

"As in –fornia?" Rita asked with a smile, now feeling more apart of the group.

"No," Kyros replied, "as in Calley Migne. All right, go ahead. Start with the calamine lotion jokes." None came, just a unanimous laugh that suggested it was already an old joke. "Any way, she didn't go on a spiritual journey. She went hiking. She just forgot to hike back. And Rita's not a nun, she's just similar one. Remember, Tristram, when our parents sent us to that Catholic private school, and there was that nun who hit us with a ruler…" The two were laughing even before the Arctic fox finished the story.

"Into corporal punishment?" Khepri asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows, reminding Rita of Bryan for a moment. One minute so serious, the next flirting; unlike Kyros, who was always flirting.

"Oh hey, and don't forget, Maria got re-baptized after she dumped Kyros," Tro reminded them. Kyros protested that it was months after their split, but was ignored.

"Ya know, that didn't help her attitude any," Perci observed. "I even got her a present for that day, and she sent it back to me with a very threatening note."

"Whatchya get her?" Ymir asked.

Perci actually blushed. "Uh…chocolate kinky underwear." Kyros actually rose from his seat and kicked him in his shin. 

"You dumb…butt! That was my ex girlfriend! You don't see me goin' around giving your ex girlfriends edible kinky crap!"

"Yeah, all two of them," Geraint laughed.

"It was a joke!" Perci exclaimed, "Just a joke!…All right, partial little fantasy, but other wise _complete joke_."

"I'm surprised Valdis didn't kill you," Tro commented, and began searching for something beneath the cushions. "He practically maimed me when I checked her out."

Perci shook his head. "See, Valdis I could take. But Maria…" he shook his head again. "That's a full time bitch."

All heads turned when they heard one dainty clearing of the throat. Not even a full day after the ceremony, and there was all ready trouble in paradise.

Rita saw a petite girl, all but bursting with passion that Rita couldn't help but admire her. And be automatically jealous. Short, pretty, and well, so _interesting_; everything Verity knew she wasn't.

"Well damn," the little vision said lamentably, "full time bitch? And I've only been gettin' part time pay."

Then, with the authority of a queen, she swept into the horse shoe of couches and sat directly next to Rita. With a warm smile contrasting the cold demeanor earlier, she said brightly, "Hi! I'm Maria Yolken Tybal…Eldson. Keep forgetting that part," she giggled girlishly. "What's your name?"

"Verity," she answered, just before girl grabbed her hand and dragged her up the stairs. She barely had time to register the other boys reactions before she disappeared to the second floor. Rita was sure her shoulder would be dislocated before the week was over. All for the terribly important sake of chocolate chip cookies.

"Listen," came Maria's muffled voice from somewhere in the pantry. Rita waited outside in one of the kitchen chairs. "As important as cookies are, that's not the only reason I brought you up here…oh my God, how old is this caviar?"

"I didn't think caviar was important as cookies."

"It's not," Maria agreed as she emerged from the pantry, carrying an armful of sweets… except chocolate chip cookies. "But Kyros is. Maybe more, but I think cookies have been around longer."

Rita regarded her carefully. "Is this the 'don't hurt my friend' sort of conversation? If it is, it's not needed because—"

Maria shook her pretty little head. "No. I just wanted to make sure there's nothing important here."

"Are you keeping your options open, then? Because, if you're leading one on just in case the current one leaves, that is really, really mean—"

"No! God, will you keep interrupting? I just need to know if there' s something special. Is there?"

Rita studied the wall paper for some time before answering. "He gave me my first kiss." She heard Maria give a tired, depressed sigh.

"I was afraid of this, the moment I saw you, looking out of place in there. It's the kinda girl who shares dirty jokes with the rest of them that I ignore. All right, I'll try to explain. Have you heard of the Final Battle?"

Verity studied the girl sitting across from her, taking in her fragile form, her earnest ember eyes, and those mysterious scars on her left wrist. Maria Yolken Tybal Eldson. The name sounded so familiar…

"Did Kyros give you your first hickey?" It was Maria's turn to look uncomfortable.

"I can't believe he's still telling that story," she murmured apologetically. Her small, manicured fingers crept into one package of cookies.

"_You're_ the Fourth Wild Power?" Rita exclaimed, once again taking in the slight form. 

"I was. Wanna make something of it?" Maria actually looked ready to _fight_, and Rita shook her head nervously, though God knew how interesting a tussle with this pregnant pixie would have been. The smaller girl lowered her voice. "Any way, about the Final Battle. At the time, Kyros was dating a vampire called Nissa. She was really pretty, and really tough, and just about as 'Alias' slash Buffy slash Xena as you could get. And she, like many, died. Do you see what I'm saying here?"

Rita bit her lip, trying to understand. She was usually fairly good at understanding things. "Do you mean the Dickens-Mary syndrome?"  


"Um…nope. I mean that, in her death, he sorta dreamt her up to be this perfect woman. And, you know, without her being around, nobody contradicted that dream. Have you heard of the girls he's dated afterward? Me, cop, pretzel lunatic." Rita nodded. "Did you know we were all dark haired? Bitchy? All at one point nagged him about something, or ordered him to do something?"

"Exactly. Dickens' Mary died and he immortalized her. That's what I said."

"Well…yeah, okay, Miss Hooked on Phonics. But I just wanted you to understand that we're just substitutes. And if Kyros wants a relationship with you, because you're dark haired and more mature than he is, it's only about her. Don't get hurt, understand?" Rita nodded, having nothing to say. Suddenly, Maria didn't like the awkwardness her friendly advice had caused. "This is just wrong. The largest pantry in New York and they don't have chocolate chip cookies. C'mon, we'll make some."

Rita watched dubiously as Maria explored the kitchen, occasionally gathering items that were "probably used in cookies." In the freezer, much to Rita's puzzlement, was a large amount of funny shaped organs. Iliana, another girl Maria knew, had once tried to teach the fourth wild power to make some pancakes. And seeing how both pancakes and cookies were sweet and flat…well, they _had_ to have the same ingredients, it made perfect sense.

As the kitchen table filled with more and more "sensible" bowls and ingredients, Rita sat thinking. At first, she had been annoyed. How dare Kyros use her as a dead girl's sub? From what she knew, this battle was years ago. Just because he had pain from one experience was no reason to inflict it on others. Kyros Snow was just lucky she hadn't gotten emotionally involved. Or he'd have one tall, plain bawling girl on his hands. At least she wouldn't feel too bad when she left New York. A heavy feeling slipped over her when she thought that. She'd have to leave New York eventually.

"So," the amateur baker attempted, sensing somebody's mood was flushing down the toilet, "what college do you go to?"  


Rita smiled, and looked down at her hands. This happened with people who didn't know her. Once she opened her mouth, she was deemed older woman. "I don't go to college. I'm a graduating junior at Anomina High. Only sixteen." Maria blushed prettily, the way Rita had always wanted to blush, and apologized.

"I guess that must annoy you, huh? Being thought of as older all the time. People always treat me like a little kid," Maria answered with a rueful, somewhat bitter sweet smile. "I'm the person everybody looks at and thinks, she needs to be taken care of."

Verity regarded the smaller girl carefully, and for some reason thought of fourteen year old Verity. That's how she had been; independent, stubborn, always thinking she could take care of herself when she really couldn't. If Maria lived long enough, would she realize that? If she lived another life, would she look back and realize, that Maria Tybal _was_ weak, and she bit off more than she could chew? Then Rita shrugged off the questions, and began to mix something Mrs. Eldson told her to mix. "I'm the person who takes care of things."

After a moment's consideration, Maria nodded. "That definitely sounds suckier." She then tried to see if using broken chocolate bars was the same as using semi sweet chocolate chips. "But you're smart. I wish I was smart. Then I wouldn't have to get out of stupid situations."

"Such as?" Rita asked with a cocked eyebrow. As far as she could see, new glasses and all, this girl had the perfect life. Married, young, beautiful, and an equally beautiful kid on the way. 

"This," Maria replied guiltily and timidly pointed at her stomach. "But, seeing as I don't want to talk about this, we'll talk about you. How's high school?"  


"Fine. Everything was running smoothly when I left."

"What, do you like, run the place?" Rita shrugged modestly.

"Presidency is really good on college applications."  


Maria stopped scrutinizing the variety of chocolate before her. "You're president? Wow, extremely involved in school. Verity Glisscielle, you're the complete opposite of sixteen year old Maria Tybal."

__

As in you were pretty and popular and had normal guys drooling over you? Naturally, Rita held her tongue. All she said was, "I can't imagine that being a good thing."  


Maria noticed her hold back and smiled appreciatively. "How very diplomatic of you, trying to get on my good side. Wise beyond your years, Verity." Then she leaned forward, chocolate eyes analyzing green ones. "Very wise," she repeated softly.

Goodness, was "Old Soul" written somewhere in the irises? All somebody had to do was squint and they'd automatically know? That was fair, not at all. She should have a choice as to whether people found out. But Maria knew, and Maria clapped her hands with the discovery. What was it like? Who did she meet? It was all nothing and nobody.

"Then that means you wish you weren't. I can imagine…one life's hard enough to handle…" As her new acquaintance trailed off, Verity took advantage of it.

"We'll talk about something else. You. Where' s your husband? Is he your—"  
  
"My soul mate? Yes," Maria admitted miserably. "Although sometimes I like to think that whoever pairs soul mates up picks name out of a hat. The man's completely unbearable…Oh, be forewarned that I'm spoiled. So if you get me started, I am always right, and everybody else is hopelessly wrong."  


At least she was straight forward about it. "Why is he unbearable?"

"These are his rules: I can't put on nail polish, because nail polish remover has organic solvents in it. I can't jog any more. I can't eat too many junk foods because that can lead to an over weight baby. I have to be in bed by eight, missing all of the prime time shows. I'm not allowed near anybody who smokes or drinks, which is about half of my friends at NYU. The man inspects the taxi cabs before I could get in. And I am not allowed to take any sort of medication for my migraines, which have become more frequent because he's being a pain in my big, pregnant ass."  


Although she visibly winced at the last word, Rita decided not to comment, seeing as this was a spoiled, moody little girl she dealt with. She guessed this was the notorious Valdis Eldson who was being a pain in the rear, which wasn't that large. Nothing, besides the belly, was that large. Verity suddenly knew why Valdis was being so cautious. Looking at her small bones, her tiny waist, and the overall fragility of Maria Eldson…this was a high risk pregnancy. Pregnancy for teenagers was high risk because their bodies, in general, were still developing and too small to support a child. Sometimes there was just too much hormonal confusion, whether or not to help with growth or to help with fetal development. Maria appeared as if she still shopped in the girls section.

"So…" Rita searched for a semi-neutral subject, anything to clear away the stormy expression on Maria's face. "What are you majoring in?"

At the question, Maria smiled. Radiated, actually. Rita guessed that was what all pregnant ladies did when happy. "Greek mythology, but I'm switching to creative writing. I'm going to be a children's book writer. Originally, I wanted to write about the Greek gods, but I just don't know how to interpret Zeus's philandering ways into important lessons for the youth."

"Um…use protection?" Maria laughed and shook her head.

"You can't stay with the boys all the time. They're already rubbing off on you."

Rita blushed to her ear lobes, wondering why she just made a very Kyros comment. "How are you paying for it all?"

Maria looked bashful and began breaking the chocolate bars again. "I do have a job, at a daycare. And I am trying to pay for it all and meet rent. I've barely gone shopping at all…"

"But?"

"Remember that pain in my pregnant ass?" Rita nodded, laughing. "Yeah, he helps with the finances. Before you ask, he doesn't do anything. At _all_. It's all so unfair, isn't it? All he has to do is play around on the Stock Exchange and boom, he's rich. Any time his stocks slips, he sells some priceless antique that his mother willed to him. I bet he has a whole island of antiques. Hell, I bet he has a whole island."

"I suppose that would pay for a college education. Are you sure this is the dough?" Rita knew little about the culinary arts except reheating. But she did know that cookie dough was not supposed to look like runny Elmer's glue. Maria studied the contents of the bowl and, without any hesitation, added three eggs to it. An extra cup of self rising flour for good measure.

After an hour or so of conversation that alternated between inexplicable exuberance and childish anger, Kyros emerged from the basement victorious. Rita spotted him at the entrance, a look of shock on his face. A stab of pity bit into her. Poor Kyros. He was so in love with this Nissa that he couldn't let go, even when trying to move on to others. And he never intentionally hurt any of them. She hoped that, wherever she was, Nissa appreciated Kyros' devotion.

"What the hell did you do to my kitchen?" He demanded, mouth agape.

Maria looked up from the raw cookies she was trying to shape into nice round patties and saw the package of real cookies in his hand. Literally jumping from her chair, she ran up to him and snatched the sweets.

"Cookies! Kyros, you are officially my best friend. Get me milk that's not expired and we'll become more than friends," which was, Verity decided, the most Machiavellian deal she had ever heard. Mostly because Maria batted her eyes and appeared serious about it.   


"Can't you go to your house? After you clean up this mess, I mean."

"Of course we'll clean it up," Rita replied indignantly. "We wouldn't leave this for your mother. What do you take us for, ungrateful guests?" Kyros grinned at Maria, who frowned.

"You break one cigar box and all of a sudden you're a criminal. I think that if your father's forgiven and forgotten, you should do the same." Then she began to eat, something that appeared to absorb all her concentration. 

Kyros petted Rita's head affectionately as he sat down. He smelled of tobacco again, that and stale food. There was a complacent grin on his face that had been absent for the past few hours. 

"I just gotta call on my cell," he commented. Maria shrugged indifferently and Rita, who was clearing up the catastrophic baked goods, tried her best to look interested. "Now, Maria," he chided, "did you run away from home?"

At his teasing tone, Maria's head whipped up from the cookies, mouth full. Verity thought she looked like the kid who stole the cookie jar. Guiltily, she nodded slowly.

"Well, I informed him as to where you were."

Maria stamped her foot, and placed her hands on her hips. "Mmmmmmm?"

Kyros interpreted that as a "why?" He sighed. "Because he threatened to hunt me and my future children down if I didn't tell him."  


"Mmmmmm," was the angry retort and Maria began to pace, angrily chewing the cookies. "But I can't stand him! He's making my life impossible. He's been so rude, and so…_inconsiderate_ of what I want…"

"Shut up, Maria. You didn't even invite any of us to the wedding. That was kinda rude."

Verity saw that Maria's eyes glowed at the "shut up" part and wondered which limb Kyros would lose. But all the runaway said was, "It was a private ceremony. Nobody except my aunt was invited." Now that was a blatant lie, Rita observed. Perhaps she hadn't noticed them sitting on the bench. But Maria continued. "Kyros! Did you really have to tell him? Now he's gonna storm over here, and just bully me around, and I can't even physically run away from him because that would be 'over exerting my body.'"

Coincidental timing had always been Mari's enemy, because, just as she spoke, Verity heard Mrs. Snow's surprised hello and angry footsteps that reached them in seconds. Suddenly, a shockingly tall man filled the entire entrance way. He, like Kyros had red hair, except his was of a darker shade, almost the color of blood. And there was no easy humor written on his handsome visage. Something wavering between worry and murderous anger shone in his sea colored eyes. 

This couldn't have been Maria's soul mate, Verity thought. He was unhappy, that much as clear, and very untidy. Almost the polar opposite of the jovial, tailored Maria to her left. And, for a future father, he was disturbingly violent-looking…

"Maria," he growled in a deep, disapproving tone. Both Kyros and Verity were impressed that Maria didn't back away as her soul mate stalked closer to her. Instead she raised her chin in defiance.

"Valdis Eldson, if you _dare_ kidnap me again, you will no longer be able to have children from here on out. And I am so not talking about another kick." She even wagged her finger in warning, as if talking to a child. Those dangerous eyes, now a flaming blue, slid to Kyros.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" 

"Hey!" Kyros instantly protested. "I just got here from Boston. Ask anybody, ask," he looked at Maria, and frowned. "Never mind, don't ask the pathological liar. Ask…Verity over there, I drove her here. And she can't lie, she really can't… Besides, you just can't break into a man's house and accuse him without any evidence."

Valdis coolly queried who paid the taxes for the abode, and Kyros, properly shamed, looked away and muttered under his breath, "Tall, impregnating, violent jack ass."

"They're not the best of friends," Maria explained quietly to the sixteen year old. 

Verity laughed, because she had never seen Kyros so subdued, even under Quinn. Then she tried to meet Valdis' gaze. And failed. Staring at the linoleum, she nodded. "It's true, we just drove here this morning and Maria came by unexpectedly." 

"Es tu, Brute?" she heard Maria murmur. Then Maria changed her tactics, so quickly Verity stepped back.

Maria's full lips curved up slowly, licking them for full measure. Her taut stance melted into languorous curves as she closed the difference between them. As if Kyros and Verity had disappeared, Maria's arms wound around Valdis' neck, fingers intimately playing with his collar. Her prey eyed her warily, slightly bewildered in her metamorphosis. 

"Valdis, sweetie," she sighed after placing a lingering kiss on his lips, "you want what's best for me?" Valdis nodded silently. Verity turned questioningly to Kyros, wondering why that Southern accent just intensified. But Kyros wasn't paying attention to Verity. Of course not. Not when Maria played seductress, those eyes wide large and guileless. 

"Then, naturally, I know what I should do and what I shouldn't do right?" she continued. This was the part where Valdis would succumb and the petite and beautiful would win the battle. Or so Verity thought.

Instead, Valdis' eyebrows drew close together. With some irritated mutterings, his hands clamped on her elbows and Maria found her arms trapped against her sides. "Hey!"

"No," Valdis cut in, still angry. "you listen, you little manipulative midget. You can't kiss your way out of this one. I don't care if you cry all the way home, I am not going to let you ruin the health of our child."

"You're being irrational. Why don't you just lock me up in a padded room until my water breaks?" Maria demanded as she struggled out of his arms. Unsuccessful, she was hoisted into an inescapable embrace, not unlike the kind Rhett used against Scarlett before taking her up to their bedroom and ravishing her. "Let go of me you over sized, retarded cave man!" Verity watched, wondering exactly was the appropriate behavior for this sort of situation, as Maria managed to elbow her husband in the chest. "Ass hole! When I divorce you—and don't think I won't—I hope the unlucky girl you date gives you uber crabs. Let go!"

Despite the injury, Valdis' fury drained away and he kissed the top of her head. "No can do, my little slut muffin. Kyros, for safety reasons, don't come by the apartment for a few months. Verity, nice to meet you." And with that, he turned and left in the direction of the front door. Sounds of nails on the wall and things being broken ensued.

"Help! Verity! Kyros! SOMEBODY! I'm being kidnapped! Call the police! Call Thierry! For God's sake, why the hell isn't somebody picking up the phone and calling a damn soul—" The desperate pleas were soon silenced after a slam of the door.

While Kyros laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks, Rita cleared the rest of the mess Hurricane Maria had caused. His good mood was contagious, however, and soon she was giggling with him. Both felt as if they had experienced a trashy talk show. 

"Fifty bucks says they last six months." Verity frowned at Kyros' proposition.

"Gambling's wrong…and at least give them a year." She couldn't return his smile. Maria had made her wonder why she hadn't called anybody, not a damn soul.

~*~*~*~

Animona

There were no words to describe Rashel's shock. Here she was, eating her ordered pizza, monitoring everybody's actions during lunch. Then this punk came up and demanded:

"Where the hell did you put her?"

Bryan Smith did not look happy. And so much for the Daybreakers' low profile.

"Who's her?" she asked nonchalantly, finishing the crust and wiping her mouth with a napkin. 

"Verity. One second she was in my house, the next she's disappeared, and I have to replace my iron gate. Where is she?"

Instead of answering, she asked, "When did this happen?"

Bryan frowned. She was one of the scheming Daybreakers. She was supposed to know. "Two days ago."

Rashel's professional mood was noticeably dampened. Apparently, that day was not a good day. "I have no idea where she is. Maybe Boston."

"What the hell is she doing in Boston?" The question and word choice immediately sparked her anger. He had no right to be insensitive.

"Maybe she's identifying the bodies," she snapped just as Quinn approached. Her soul mate ignored their suspect's presence, because he appeared murderous himself.

"What the hell happened to my car?"

Rashel smiled and pretended to ponder. Evidently, "hell" was the word of the day. She then gave a short smile and moved on to her next slice. It never mattered how much she ate, as long as she worked it off during combat practice. "I hit a squirrel when I was looking for Kyros."

"There's a dent the size of Texas," he thundered, standing over her.

"Did I mention that he hit back? Feisty little rodent."

"What bodies?" Bryan demanded. "What's going on, what's happened?"

"Kyros is missing," Quinn stated tiredly, sitting beside her. 

"So's Verity," Rashel told both of them. "I understand for Kyros to leave but Rita…she has responsibilities."

Bryan nodded, although not really apart of the conversation. "I know this is serious, and I'm sorta your enemy, but—"  


"Sorta our enemy?" Quinn snapped, already in a bad mood because of Kyros' sudden disappearance. "How 'bout sorta a pain in our asses? While you were somewhere, trying to seduce the one girl who's done nothing to deserve any more misfortunes, we were trying to take care of funeral arrangements, custody problems, house payments, and other legal shit. I don't care if you worry about some canceled date. Verity has a lot to think about now that her family's gone, and you're not high on the priority list."

Bryan was momentarily stunned, but scowled when Quinn threatened to make him sleep indefinitely with that damn wondrous psychic ability. He walked away, disgusted that the Night World had let an asset like John Quinn slip through their fingers. Bryan himself had no strong loyalty to the society that produced him, but he couldn't bring himself to join the Daybreakers. They were just too damn good. He imagined the traitor Elder Thierry's mansion was full of hippies and folk music and people holding hands. They were just so…_good_.

But then again, so was Verity. Bryan contemplated her as he walked to his car with half a mind to drive to the state capital. She wasn't the kind of girl of you dated, he decided as he pulled out of the parking lot, nearly running over the school guard. The dating kind of girl giggled, twirled their hair, pretended to be interested in whatever you were saying, and worried inanely over what to wear on outings. Rita laughed when something was actually funny, her hair was out of the way, either listened or changed the subject, and didn't give a damn what anybody wore. 

That wasn't the kind of girl you dated. That was the kind of girl you married.

Bryan came to screeching halt on Main Street. Married? _Married_? He gained speed after some angry motorists gave him a few choice words through the window. He didn't want to marry some plain, holier-than-thou, human Old Soul. He wanted to marry a sweet girl who'd call him on his bullshit, but would be nice about it. Sufficiently take care of the household while he went on indefinite business trips. Be interesting enough to keep him interested as long as the marriage lasted, the separation caused by death. Pretty enough to pass on good genes, but not so pretty as to tempt other men. Tolerate moving place to place when he succeeded his father's position.

"She wanted to go to France," he found himself saying. _Whoa_. Thinking about his future wife shouldn't have led to thinking about Rita again. Besides, Rita gave up the dream of going to France after Melissa's accident. But why did she move on to advanced placement French if she wasn't still hoping?

They had discussed this during Mr. Vicar's debate. She would have called his little investigation in her mind an "invasion of privacy and infringement of the Bill of Rights." While she slept at his house, he was just ensuring her safety. And Bryan couldn't very well ensure safety if he didn't have the information. He had went straight for her memories, too. 

Melissa, who everyone had believed to recover and go to college, was attached to the equivalent of a ball and chain. He could only imagine her guilt now, if she allowed the deaths to sink in. Verity in youth grabbed any opportunity to throw herself a pity party, just as she grabbed any reason to dance or laugh. Now, like one of his father's workers, she would carefully arrange each emotion from most important to last. In this situation, grief would be last. 

But she ran away, damn her. She ran away with that shifter. He didn't condemn the escape. He just wished, for some odd reason, that she had run to him. Asked _him_ to take her away. Bryan wished that she would have fled with her child hood friend, not some acquaintance of a few weeks. 

"What does it matter?" Bryan asked himself angrily. He didn't care about the Old Soul, who was supposed to be smart for all her experiences. A gypsy in Spain, a nun in France, a spinster in Western US. Those lives hadn't taught her much. To hell with her. He refused to spend another second thinking about the one that got away.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, the phone rang. Probably John Otis. He had said something derogatory about Rita this morning in the green house, and it just so happened to be Kick Ass Morning in Bryan's stolen palm pilot. Bad luck for Otis, and the holly bushes he landed on. With a sigh welcomed solely by the empty house, Bryan laid on the couch and let the machine get it.

He hadn't slept in days. Maybe that was why he was so wound up. He'd just catch some shut eye and all these human problems would go away.

"Hello…it's me. I-I'm in New York."

~*~*~*~

School had ended, with no exhilarating events whatsoever. The only sight Jared enjoyed was Otis painfully hobbling to the nurse's office, which had been a perfect opportunity to trip him. He hadn't seen Rita, which was odd. He waited on his couch for the Daybreakers to come and explain her absence to him. Rik was with Fayth and Quinn was with Rashel and Winnie was off collecting ingredients…

Three rings. "Will somebody get the damn phone?" he yelled by habit before realizing his stupidity. After some search in the caverns of his couch, Jared found the portable.

"Who is it and what do you want?"

No response, just a feminine sigh.

"Just to warn you, if this is an obscene call, I'm probably gonna enjoy it."

"Goodness, Jared, can't you think of anything besides copulation?" Rita exclaimed, obviously annoyed.

"Well, how can I not think about sex if you call me up and make sex noises? Common sense, Rita, common sense. Where are you? I was gonna come by your house but Rik needed Yota."

"I won't be there."

"Then where are you? We'll go some place."

In New York, Rita frowned; hadn't anybody told him? It had been, after all, a few days since she left. "I'm in New York, Jared, with Kyros." He didn't swear, as she expected him to, nor did he demand any explanations.

Instead he asked, in a sort of quiet, defeated voice, "Is that who you thought of first?"

No, she wanted to tell him. No, I didn't think of Kyros or Bryan. But it wouldn't have helped, because she hadn't thought of him either. In that hazy blur after the news, she had only thought about getting away, and Kyros was the most convenient. 

"Yes," she told him sadly. "Yes, I thought of him first."

"Oh…I'm not much of a phone person—"

"Jared, please don't…"

"—so I'll let you get back to Kyros. See ya later, Glisscielle." The decisive click and dial tone made no room for arguments. 

He had said it in a friendly sort of tone. Rita felt strangely disappointed after she had hung up the phone. So she was Glisscielle again, and was no longer viewed as slightly above the others. It was better this way, she reasoned, in the small chance that he actually fell for her. Neither would get hurt. 

Yeah, that was a noble reason. But it didn't exactly coincide with the truth. Because the truth was…

Jared was perfect. Cowlicks, coarse words, raggedy fashion style… Jared Luna was, quite possibly, the most perfect boy she had ever met. Overshadowed Kyros, shamed Bryan, and a million times better than Adrian. And that was why she had to lie. Because, if she didn't stop this now, she might have fallen in love. And stayed with him, in Anomina.

And nothing good happened in Anomina. 

Then why did she feel the urge to cry? Was it because the loss of his companionship? Or was it the loss of everybody's companionship? Now wasn't the time to cry. Rita wiped away the brimming tears. It wasn't the time to cry, not when Mrs. Snow was calling her for dinner. 

~*~*~*~

New York

Maria held the phone a full arm's length away from her ear, but Poppy still hurt.

"OH. MY. GOD!"

"It was really a small ceremony," she said loudly to the phone, still far away.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DIDN'T INVITE US!"

"We just did it so my baby wouldn't be a bastard."

"JAMES! Oh my god, James, they're _married_ and they didn't even invite _us_. Well, I understand not inviting you, but what about me? I'm the freakin' life of the party ya know." Maria guessed she had put her on speaker phone.

"Your loss, Maria," James commented, naturally calmer than his soul mate, "we would have gotten you a blender. Those nice new ones that go on silent mode."

Maria sighed. "No point. Valdis threw out my own blender way before I was pregnant, because he found out I wasn't making _just_ health shakes."  


"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Maria Eldson. Did you hear who Iliana was dating?"

"You mean she dumped Mary Lynnette's class mate?"

"Will you girls quit gossiping? That can't be good for karma, or pregnancy," James warned.

"When you've got something growing in your uterus, I'll take your advice," Mari answered sweetly.

"Any way," Poppy continued, "you know that moody werewolf who was awarded a medal or something last month? Yup, that one. They met when he went to go exterminate her town's bad critters."

"Oh, ew. The one who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'smile.' What could they possibly see in each other?"

"Maybe Iliana's his own version of prozac. Remember, Maria, the ever elusive pill?"

"I'm starting to think you overdose." Maria heard the door slam and knew Valdis was back from some big wig auction. "I hafta go, Valdis thinks I'm napping." Valdis usually spent an inordinate amount of time spoiling their horse of a dog, so if she crawled under the living room table…

"Maria, why aren't you in bed? She should be in bed, shouldn't she Ceberus, yes she should…" Maria paused, one hand up so she looked like a pointing hunting dog. She frowned at his tone, and decided no man would ever talk to her baby as if he were an idiot.

Maria looked up, to see the Armani dressed Valdis smiling down at her. He didn't seem troubled by her repeated misbehavior. "I ran into Kyros on the way here, and he invited us to dinner with him and Rita."

"Ooh, where?"

"No place where he's taken you," he said, helping her off the floor. "So we decided on Tavern on the Green."

"Oh yay! I have to go shopping! I'm fat now, so nothing fits. I wonder what wouldn't clash with their garden motif…" Which wasn't true at all, Valdis observed silently as she ran in search of his piggy bank. She hadn't gained enough weight. Thierry's Mansion had all the medical equipment for inhuman problems. He was sure the Elder would allow them a visit, without Maria's knowing, of course.

Later that week, Rita found herself seated across the most virulent couple she had ever encountered. They had argued about who was at fault for their tardiness, her coarse language, his bullying, and then who deserved the most dinner rolls. There was no expression of pain on Valdis' face, but Rita believed Maria had kicked him twice already, and counting.

Although their embarrassing behavior drew some curious stares, Verity was thankful for it. At least there was something to fill in the silence. She and Kyros themselves had nothing to talk about. Neither attended school, she knew everything about his friends and family, and she had none. 

"So how are things in Mayberry?" Maria asked ; she had won the most dinner rolls after they agreed Valdis would receive most of the fancy gloop that came with it. "Have we cracked down on that cow tipping net work?"

Rita would have objected to the stereotype of small towns, except that there _were_ those preteens who insisted on bothering the bovine. "All's well. The school carnival should be commencing as we speak." Verity had called Ophelia for that information. 

"Oh, that reminds me. There's going to be a block party next, next Friday. Will you be here to attend?" Three pairs of eyes turned to her expectantly at Maria's query. Rita smiled sadly, gazing at the flowery carpet.

"I really don't know…"

"Of course she can," Kyros answered for her as an arm snaked around her shoulders, pulling her closer. It seemed to Verity that, at every mention of her departure, he resolved it in an embrace and a grin. _Poor, poor Kyros,_ she thought as their meals arrived. Verity studied him forlornly. He couldn't even let go of the substitute.

"We visited Las Vegas about three months ago. Have you seen Thierry lately?" Valdis asked Kyros, whose fork paused mid air. 

"Umm…nah. He said that if either me or Ash planted something 'inappropriate' in the gardens again, we'd get three months suspension from the mansion. But would he believe me when I said Ash did it? Of course not. I wasn't any where near Nilsson's daffodils."

Maria choked audibly and buried her smiling face in her napkin. Verity smiled slightly when the two males eyed her suspiciously, not one jot of concern in either. When she recovered and wiped away her tears, Maria beamed her wide eyes at them. "What? I wasn't any where near the East gardens." That being the side for the "cheerful" flowers, which, Maria reasoned, seemed the most appropriate place for them.

"What did you do when Nilsson asked you to help out in the West gardens?" Maria opened her mouth to protest, only to find no argument pouring out.

"Once you think about it, east and west could be really confusing…" Kyros frowned and shook his head disappointingly. "I wanted to see what cannabis really looked like," she explained weakly. Valdis' eyes, now a cool hunter green, narrowed. "Oh fine! I wanted to get Ash in trouble. I think Mary Lynnette and the sisters had an alibi for him. I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for those meddling kids!"

Kyros rolled his eyes. Valdis merely said, "You're calling tonight and explaining it all to Thierry."

"Can't," Maria replied cheerfully, stabbing at her chicken pilaf, "he's in an undisclosed location in the Amazon."

"Then Hannah," Valdis persisted, "I won't have you getting your friend in trouble. Kyros should be able to go to the Mansion as he pleases."

Verity stole a side glance at her date. He was absorbed by his meal, having lost interest in the conversation. She suspected it was because he didn't want to go to an institution that had fired him. 

The mini trial ended when Maria's cell phone beeped the "Scooby Doo" theme song. With Valdis as a companion, she left to answer it in the waiting room. Thus, leaving the other two to resume the inevitable silence. Every once in a while, she'd mentioned the slight desire to return to Anomina. 

"To take care of things," she explained gently. Kyros shook his head, unnecessarily involved with his napkin. "Kyros…you ran away to home. I ran away _from_ home. I can't stay away forever."

He stared intently at his folded hands. After a moment or two, he sighed and looked at her, letting her feel the full force of his sad brown eyes. Then, in an earnestly pathetic voice, he explained how he would miss her. The guys would miss her too. She had been such a help around the house. She was the first girl Andrea hadn't tried to steal from. "And besides," he finished, cruelly miserable, "ma would take it as an insult if you didn't stay a little longer. Please?" 

When Valdis and Maria returned, they found a satisfied fox shifter and miserable, distressed girl. Maria opened her mouth to broil Kyros on what he had done when Valdis shook his head. For once, she obeyed and opened the soothing subject of politics. Verity contributed little to the conversation. Every time Maria caught the desolate look in Rita's eyes, she was sure she'd burst at the seams to grill her ex boyfriend. It was only Valdis' steady grip on her knee that kept her from turning into bad cop.

Just before they entered their separate cabs, Maria impulsively gave Rita a tight hug. She had remembered what it had been like to be sixteen. To be so miserable. She said to the bewildered teenager, "Whatever it is…writing always helped me. That and running and…physically hurting people, but I don't recommending that last one. Bye and don't let Kyros bully you. He doesn't do it on purpose."

The taxi driver honked his horn. Maria glared at him and then flicked him off.

"Ass hole," she muttered, disgusted. "Can't he see I'm pregnant? Any way, call me if you need anything." With that, Maria left and climbed into the taxi with Valdis.

__

Writing, Verity contemplated as she sat in the downstairs den. The boys, apparently part time decorations for the Snow household, were scattered around her. Kyros was upstairs with his father, learning to play poker. She read, but definitely didn't write creatively. Scientific papers were easy. Literary analyses she breezed through. But stories, poems, songs…ew. For hippies and depressed people. 

"Khepri?" The Egyptian looked away from his comic book and turned to her questioningly. "Can I borrow some paper?"

"No, but we could always steal some from Andrea. She took a doughnut from me last week. Right out of my hand. I shoulda licked it."

Although finding no humor in it, Rita smiled. She had come to realize than when his dark brown eyes became a funny sort of blackish gray, he believed he was making a joke. It was as if no one in the house hold was ever serious.

~*~*~*~

Anomina

Good God, where the hell was she?

True, she had been absent for the past few days. He had expected for her to attend her own carnival, though. Adrian wandered aimlessly as Animona citizens enjoyed the sights. High school students manned the booths, even wandered as clowns or magicians. It seemed everybody in the hamlet was in Ye Olde Town Square except for the one who planned it. 

Even the Daybreakers were in on it. The fluffy witch played, coincidentally enough, a gypsy, telling fortunes in her trite dark tent. He didn't bother to explore her abilities, however. The idiot Night World people did join the line, not realizing the witch only participated in the fair to gather more information. He heard their whiny exclamations as one customer appeared to have an extra long reading.

They had gotten as much information as they needed about him. He learned that much as a mite on Rita's blouse. It was his favorite creature to transform into. People would believe he had disappeared when he was right there, sitting on their shoe. He also learned of Rita's family's death, from normal high school gossip. There was an estate sale on her house the next weekend. Something the Daybreakers were taking care of, not herself. 

Which was strange, because she was proud. Her old friends would talk about it whenever her name was mentioned. The Glisscielle pride, spoken in reverence. As if it was a precious heirloom, rather than the bane Adrian recognized it to be. He knew that much, even if she claimed that he knew nothing about her. Sure, she apologized easily, but only to avoid arguments. But she had enough pride to refuse help concerning her family. Enough to hide the condition of her sister. Enough to lash out at anybody who dared to sympathize. And, unfortunately, enough to hate anybody who had seen the vulnerable side of her. Gitana.

That episode in the gym was…disturbing. He didn't know what happened, nor why, but he did know that he felt sorry for it. Adrian thought that, because they had at least moved onto sarcastic humor, there was progress. But now she hated him. He sighed tiredly as he wandered past the swaying paper lamps and amateur carnival booths. The woods were just a few kilometers from here. The sun looked ready to retire; he guessed it wasn't too early to start hunting.

Shoulders slumped resignedly, he made his way east, unaware of the vampire flanking him.

~*~*~*~

They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe." 

The Beatles, "Across the Universe"

Er…sorry, probably not that satisfying to those who want the plot…just informational. Not too boring, though…right? 


	8. For the Damsel

Now, maybe I'm spoiled by the previous chapters' feedback or…maybe I'm just plain spoiled. But I was sort of bewildered by the lack of reviews. Does this mean that chapter 7 was craptacular? If you don't like, please tell me and I'll try to fix it.

Zabella: Jeepers, you're super talkative, aren't ya? Just kidding, I don't mind short reviews. Thanks for letting me about the boring or non-boring status of the chapter…kinda worried for a few days… :0)

Neona-deniker: Hey! Since I basically said everything in the email, I dunno what to put down here…hmmm, lemme see…I didn't like the last chapter being too informative because when I wait forever for a chapter and nothing big happens, I call it a pooper. But calling my own chapter a pooper would be bad for publicity! Any who, I hope you get the chance to review this one!

Lilith: Go you, second review! Okay, I know it's no reason to cheer idiotically, but who can resist a good rhyme? Any who, thanks for the encouragement, and I hope this chapter will elicit more. crosses fingers Bye now!

Martha: Heylo, thanks for reviewing. Man, are you faithful. I like the Snows too. And that Jared and Bryan part was sad. All right, I know I don't sound too intelligent, repeating everything you wrote, but I'm just showing my agreement!

Vague Verity

Chapter 8

****

"Half of

~*~*~*~

There were few…actually, many things Bryan hated in life. Stubborn witches were one of them. 

"I'm supposed to tell your future, not somebody else's," she repeated.

"But I'm not asking about her future," he pointed out, eyes glowing in the darkness of her tent. "I just want to know what happened between those two. That's it."

"It's not any of your business, even if you did date her for a little bit."

"Right, and did she give you any permission for you to find out?" The blonde witch appeared troubled at his retort.

"Get out," she sighed, rubbing her temples. She nearly knocked over the crystal ball sitting on the table. Bryan shook his head.

"I paid already, and you can't make me. My friends are giving your damn Daybreakers a hard time as we speak. No one to come and rescue you." 

__

Goddess, she thought. _You take three Wild Powers from them. You kick their ass in battle. You terminate their kind each year. And the Night World men are still so patronizing_. Winnie rose from the table, eyes narrowed.

"I don't need them," she replied laconically. Terse words implied what he thought she wasn't capable of. She? Hurt him? Witch against vampire? Bryan wanted to laugh, but thought better of it. Aggravating her wouldn't work. He just wanted some information, dammit, and she wouldn't even accept a decent bribe.

Although it seemed to be flailing lately, Bryan attempted his "melting" look. "Please," he pleaded softly. "I know you don't trust me, neither do your friends. But Rita did. And I…I just want to help her."  


Bryan inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when she relented. If the witch refused, it would have been a sure sign that he lost his touch. He memorized everything she told him, mentally filling in the gaps. He went away lot…that meant an affair. She killed herself, trying to save another man…so she was serious when she dismissed Amaro as "incompatible." Hell, if she couldn't stay faithful to her own soul mate, what were the chances of their own relationship?

"Wait," the witch said as he stood. "You don't understand. Rita was a good girl. She still is."

"I get it," he assured her and tried to stand again. Only to be stopped by the hand on his arm. Let them secede…and they walk all over you.

"No you don't," she stated, tone dismissing any argument. "She's…Goddess, I don't know how to explain it. She's just good, Bryan Smith. How many people do you know still think 'He wouldn't do that, nobody's that heartless'? When you and I both know that there are a lot of people 'that heartless. Get it?."

Bryan nodded, but still unaccepting. She wasn't, because nobody was. Rita manipulated, Rita twisted the truth. 

"And personally," she went on, "if she ever isn't…I think it's because of him, the soul mate. I'm guessing his male psyche saw the kind of girl Gitana was as a challenge. To corrupt the uncorrupted. To open her eyes a little, even if it hurt her. And, even though it's taken a few lives, it's showing. So…"

Winnie had a small clue as to why she was being so open with the enemy. Although he was trailer trash, and he was somewhat shady, Bryan Smith appeared to be the only one Verity trusted. He acted as if he'd take care of everything, which would help considering Verity had been royally screwed. She also knew that what she told Bryan was the truth; Rita was an honest to goodness good girl. Only a good girl would have had strong morals that survived all that turmoil.

"Don't worry," he said shortly, rising again. This was beginning to be slightly sickening. Rita goes around, twisting and plucking emotions so people would agree with her way and still feel they're doing the right thing. Now a fellow femme fatale was helping her, for god's sake. Wasn't there some rule that said only one lower species girl could confuse you? Two was just plain cruel. It was time to leave, post haste.

"Wait," she said again, this time with some resolution in her voice. "Listen to me…you seem to genuinely care for her."

"Car_ed_."

"And she seems to genuinely trust in you."

"Trust_ed_."

She frowned, and Bryan had the urge to laugh at the irritated Amazon, dressed in cheap gypsy clothes. "Read my mind."

The twitching at his lips stopped. "Beg your pardon? Did you just say—"  


"I'm more of a kick ass sorta girl, so words aren't my thing. But I know in my mind what Rita was because I knew what was in her mind. So there," she said simply. "Get in my head."

He pondered whether he should make a lewd comment right about now, but the opportunity was too tempting. This girl was willing to open her deepest secrets to him. The possibilities were endless. He could find out what the next extermination plans were, probe the secret locations of safe houses…

"And if you so much glance towards any thing other than what I present you, there will be painful consequences."

"Consequences?" he asked absently, scooting closer.

"Second syllable 'stration,' first syllable 'cast.' Got it?" he heard her ask faintly before he slipped in. There was no need to delve any deeper than the door mat, however, because her mental presentation sat there awaiting him. It was all the information she had covertly acquired about Rita's former life with Adrian Amaro. Mostly memories, and some personal opinions of the affair. Shrugging off her inputs, for he wanted to be as neutral as possible, he opened one.

~*~*~*~

__

Prior Past

"I love him," she said with some surprise. The roses didn't care, swaying indifferently in the wind. Gitana plopped on the stone bench. "I love him?"

__

Well, that made her feel a lot better. Guilt had been pinching at her sporadically for a few weeks. She had only married him for the solid, dependable comfort. But Adrian appeared to truly care for her. It was a relief to know that she cared for him back. Tana smiled at the flowers. "I love him," she told them again, with a little smile.

Of course she did. He was attentive…when he wasn't neglectful. And he always made her smile…when he wasn't frowning himself. At any rate, when he wasn't distracted by some unknown dilemma, he was the dream husband. He made jokes that she didn't quite understand, so he'd explain it. He made sure that she didn't eat too little, always checking with the servants if she finished her meals. He took her riding sometimes, on the older and slower mares, just to talk to her. And he had dismissed nearly half the males on the staff for displeasing or intimidating her in some way. And he always knew when she was intimidated. She was his, just as he told her their wedding day. She belonged to him and he would always take care of her. Of course she loved him.

With the new revelation, she traipsed in search of her husband. Through the mazes of the hall ways, she found him poring over a book in his study. Cards, books, and horses, she thought as she watched him silently. They seemed to be the only things her Amaro was ever interested in. Well…in the day time, at least.

Walking softly, she approached the desk, wondering why he hadn't looked up yet. He always sensed her before she sensed him. It was how it had always been. Her eyes slid to what held him enthralled. She had seen them before, family trees that is, but this one was…odd. The tree had been filled in, the ancient black ink iridescent in the sun light. Instead of a majestic proud tree, it twisted and hunched, almost like an animal ready to pounce. The branches were not _strong nor august; instead they seemed to slither and crawl over the page. But what was most bizarre was the small portraits. There weren't people…there were animals…_

"Tana," he exclaimed with surprise. He rose and shut the book. "What's the matter?" She told him nothing and allowed him a small, chaste kiss.

"I figured out something in the gardens," she murmured against his chest as he held her close. He was a funny sort of husband, or so she thought. Because sometimes he would hold her as if she would leave any second, and others he didn't even notice when she tripped over her skirts. He prompted her to continue. "I love you," she informed him, in the same matter-of-fact voice she used with the roses.

"Oh," he said with a small laugh, relief evident in his voice. She felt him relax considerably. "Is that all?"

Is that all?_ Tana pulled away from him, hurt swimming in her round eyes. "I…I thought it was enough," she explained, confused, and stared at the floor. She heard him sigh and return to his seat._

"Of course it is, Tana. Don't overreact." She tensed and looked up at him. Remembering how he loved her last night, and yet spoke like this now.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked politely when he looked up. Tana studied him, head tilted, uncomprehending. She shook her head, and excused his apathy. Nobody had come to _look at the horses in a while. Perhaps he was worried. Tana attempted a smile and kissed him goodbye. In the corridor, she angrily wiped away the tears. There was no need for tears; he_ _cared for her, she knew that. He just didn't display it all the time. There was no need for tears. There never will be._

Bryan set the memory back, angry. Damn her, actually making him feel sorry for her again. All right, so she was a good girl once. But that didn't mean she was one now…

Winnie rudely thrust another memory at him. Jeez, the girl didn't quit.

"What is this?" Adrian demanded as he approached Gitana, who was seated in the garden. On her grass stained lap lay a crown of flowers woven together. She hid her hands behind her back, because the rose stems had inflicted little cuts on her fingers, and Adrian didn't like it when she hurt herself. Her husband held up a stuffed envelope, unopened and somewhat torn.

"Am I supposed to guess?" she asked when he hadn't responded to her shrug. He appeared to get angrier, and tossed the envelope onto her lap. Unaffected by his scowl, she dusted her hands before reading the address.

"Oh! This is Miguel's pension."

"Yes, Tana," he ground out as he kneeled to be eye level to her. "But I didn't write it."

"Yes, Adrian," she said in the same tone, "because I did."

"You know very well that the only servants who get pensions are ancient ones."

__

"Oh I know," Tana said, fiddling with her flowers. "But Miguel must be…forty. And I think that's late middle aged…"

"Gitana! He was looking at you…"

"Oh no he wasn't! Honestly, the only men you don't accuse of looking at me are the blind ones."

"He fell out of the window trying to catch a glimpse of you."

Having no hard facts as to what happened that morning, Tana could only shrug again and say, "I'm sure you're exaggerating…"

"Tana! Look!" Adrian gestured to the flower bed across from them. Now that she looked closely, Gitana did notice peculiar dips in it, and crooked, crushed flowers. 

"He told me your horse got loose in it," she sighed disappointedly. "But Adrian! Miguel has five—no six…"

"Seven," he answered flatly.

"Seven children! You just can't let a man go like that without some help."

"And when he got out of your garden, he returned to your room to steal some jewelry," he continued.

__

"I don't even wear half of the necklaces…" she tried, but stopped short when she saw how truly upset he was. "I'm sorry, Adrian," she mumbled in a colorless tone, keeping her eyes averted. She felt his hand on hers, and then felt his disappointment upon seeing the cuts.

"It's all right," he said, poring over her other hand. "You should get your maid to dress these. They could scar." She tugged them out of his grasp, nervous under his scrutiny. "I received a letter from an old friend in England. An old sick friend, to be exact, and apparently I must go and hear the last words rather than reading about them. Will you be all right here?"

"No!" she replied immediately, panicked. "I don't know how to tell people what to do. I don't even _know what's supposed to be done, for goodness' sake. Can't I come?"_

He tilted his head, debating over the suggestion. In silence, Tana studied the golden sheen of his hair, and the churning of his ocean blue eyes. She loved him when he smiled, but he was always the most handsome when faced with a puzzle.

"The journey would be tiring…unless we buy a spacious carriage. But how would you get exercise? Walking with me, I suppose, at stops…no, Tana. England's cold, much colder than here. You'd be ill in a matter of days."  


"Furs?" He shook his head. "How about staying inside all day, by the fire?" He shook his head again.

"I'd rather you stay here. Now don't worry, I'll leave instructions to the servants." He rose, but not before kissing and patting her head. Tana watched, with a childish pout on her lips, as he strode away. "Oh and Tana," he called just before he was out of earshot. 

"Hmm?"

"Stay away from the stables until I get back."

"But why?" she asked, even sadder than before. Jorge had shown her an expecting mare, due any day now. She had promised to help with the delivery.

Through their link, Adrian felt disappointment wash over her, stronger than the kind when she _heard he was leaving. A scowl darkened his features again. "Because I said so."_

"But Jorge…"

"Damn Jorge," he snapped, walking closer. "I just want you to stay away from the stables. Is it so hard?"

"Well, no, but there's a mare—"  


"There are lots of mares, Tana," he cut in. His voice was hard, just as his stare was. "I'll show you all of them when I come back."

"Fine," she retorted, her voice becoming as clipped as his was. "I won't go to the stables." She couldn't lie very well; as she made the promise, Tana pinched her hands and looked away.

He was furious. She could feel that, and seconds later she could also feel that painful grip on her arm. He was strong, and sometimes he forgot just how strong. Tana looked even farther to her right, rapidly blinking away the tears. She wasn't emotionally sad, nor afraid of him. She was never afraid of him. It was just that…it hurt so much_. _

"Look at me." Between the choice of gazing at him with watery eyes or appearing defiant, she chose defiance. She'd rather get him angry than disappointing him with trivial tears. Tana merely stiffened her posture, still gazing away. Adrian's voice came very close to her ear.

__

"You stay away from the stables, querida."

"Or what?"

__

"Jorge could be…" He didn't finish. Finishing that threat would have gone too far, said too much. He sensed that and withdrew, not even saying good bye as he stalked away. Later, Tana would excuse his irrational anger for admirable protectiveness.

Distantly, Bryan heard the irked complaints of his class mates outside. At a faster speed, Winnie threw memory after memory towards him, all leaving him unmoved. Fights, misunderstandings. Adrian's growing use of the phrases "stupid child" and such. Her growing habit of making excuses for his misbehavior. He understood that she was an innocent, that she was once irritatingly good. But it didn't matter. People change; she changed. Her past life wasn't enough. Even if she was a nun once, it didn't mean she still had the heart of one.

"I have to go," he said, annoyed with the witch for wasting his time. 

"Just one more," she demanded, grabbing his arm. He was about to refuse when he saw Rita. Not gypsy Rita, nor nun Rita, nor cold as ice Rita. Rita at eleven years old. Watching forlornly as the movers packed her neighbor's into the truck.

She had been a little chubby then, and her hair was untamed. She dolefully drew with her colored chalk on her drive way, glancing towards the Smiths and sighing. Rita continued to draw her powdery garden, even when a shadow was cast upon it.

"Aw…shit, Rita," twelve year old Bryan whined when she wouldn't acknowledge him. "You know you'll visit. Mom's already arranged that."

"Don't curse Bryan," she scolded. He had almost forgotten that high pitched voice Verity used to _have_. 

__

"It's not my fault we're moving," he said, frowning at the top of her head. She didn't answer. "Listen, if your dad suddenly came back with a butt load of money, you'd move too. I wouldn't hold it against you."

"You wouldn't even consider running away with me," she replied quietly, hurt evident in her voice. "You didn't even think about me."  


Selfish brat, Bryan concluded as he watched the exchange. 

"You know I can't live in your bath tub. Where would you take a bath?" Bryan smiled at his pre teen logic.

"It's all right," Rita sighed finally looking up at him. "I don't care if you move away. I don't care if you never move back. I'll just play with…" Rita looked around their cul-de-sac, searching among the children playing in the street. "John and Jasmine."

Bryan made a face. "Liar. You hate them. We hate them."

"I don't care. At least they stay in one place."

__

"Yeah…well…you're stupid."

She shot up and dusted the chalk dust from her skirt. Then Rita drew her hand back and punched him in the arm. "At least I'm not going to be the skinny, really white, lonely little boy going to that snobby new middle school. You're going to have to make new friends, Bryan, while I have plenty."

__

With that irate note, Rita turned on her heel and strode into the Glisscielle residence. She watched from the upstairs window as he waited on her drive way. He idly kicked at her drawings, not bothering to return Melissa's hello as her older sister entered the house. She smiled at that; he seemed to be the only boy who didn't fall in love with her. 

Soon the street lights turned on, one by one, as the truck pulled away. From a Mercedes, Bryan's father honked the horn. With a frown, Bryan looked up at her window and turned away. Only when their car reached the end of the street did she leave her room, and watched the back red lights fade from the edge of her drive way. She was leaning on her mail box when John Otis walked up. 

"So he's moved?"

"No duh John."

"He was a fag any way."

Rita frowned and looked hard at John. "Take that back."

"No," John refused, puzzled. "Weren't you just fighting with him?"

She didn't answer. He never saw the right cross coming. Nor the left hook. It only took one more punch before the wimp had put himself into a fetal position on her lawn. She tapped her foot impatiently for him to look up.

__

"Bryan taught me that. Don't you ever talk bad about him again, understand?" John agreed, and Rita skipped back into her house to ask her older sister what "fag" meant.

~*~*~*~

"Doesn't exactly show me saint value," he murmured, looking at anything but the witch.

"No," she agreed. They both ignored the queries from class mates outside the tent. "But it made you feel better, didn't it? She goes and defends you less than an hour after you call her stupid. Sweet gal." 

"We were just children."

"It's called loyalty, brat. And sacrificing her own happiness for the satisfaction of others. Even today, keeping malicious thoughts to herself—with the exception of arrogant men. Do you still think she's a selfish, manipulative whore?"

"I never thought she was a whore…and no."

"Will you help her now?"  


"Yes."

Silent pause.

"So how long will you sit here and sulk?"

"Yes." He looked up at the sound of her giggle. The witch knew a dozen ways to make a man feel stupid. Every woman did, if she tried hard. He glared and left the tent, surprised by the oncoming darkness. Past the faces of Anomina citizens, he could distinguish a single, male figure making his way east. Adrian.

Heedless of those he stumbled into, Bryan followed. Not too close. He was glad the winds blew west, so that he could catch Amaro's scent but not vice versa. There was no good reason why he followed. The man no longer held any answers. Bryan knew all he needed to know. Amaro wasn't a threat any more. But he just had to follow.

Once they reached the woods, however, he lost all caution. There was no point in stalking him; Bryan had no intention to fight. Well, no preconceived intention any way. The vampire stopped concentrating on which sticks to avoid, and strode quickly towards the quarry. 

"Why are you following me?" Amaro asked without turning. In the utter darkness, Bryan could see Verity's soul mate had stopped in a clearing, his head turning towards the tiniest sounds. So he was hunting. Smith dryly congratulated himself on perfect timing. 

"I wanted to talk to you," he answered directly, stepping closer. Again, not too close. This guy was wired.

"About Git—Verity?" Amaro turned now, his eyes a peculiar, wild color in the scant moon light.

"No…yes," he answered, bracing himself. Bryan searched the face of a man older than him by at least a few centuries. Older but so very, _very_ stupid. "You had no idea, did you?" the vampire asked bluntly, closing the distance between them until only a foot separated them. Both were tense, and neither had no idea as to what the other would do. "Still don't."

"About her?"

"About her _kind_," he corrected through clenched teeth. He was already angered by his past behavior; Amaro's ignorance seemed to stoke the fire. "She was rare, Amaro."

"Gypsies?" There was that patronizing smile, that brief flash of teeth that claimed superiority. He graced it often to Verity…no, no, it was Gitana. "Come now, Smith. There's still plenty in Europe, somewhere I'm sure."

"That's not what I meant. She's rare now, a little."

"Is this going somewhere?"

"Verity—Gitana—whoever she is. She was a rare one, Amaro. One in a million. And you treated her like crap… _Why_?"

Amaro studied him, head slightly tilted. "This is why you followed me?"

"You don't have to answer. I just wanted to see if you have a clue as to what you did."

"And what did I do?"

He would have given the world to wipe that small smile off of Amaro's face. The guy had no clue, not the foggiest idea of what he killed. "She was special, Amaro. Until she met you. After that…Verity's just a watered down version of what Gitana used to be, and even with that you have to appreciate it. She's good, Amaro, she's _good_ now."

"I know that." 

He almost lunged. Later, it would have been a stupid, childish reaction, to try and attack a dragon…but he couldn't help it. The bastard just stood, smiling, not caring what he had done.

But Amaro's hand stopped him, the muscled fingers clamping around his neck. The vampire barely had time to tense before the dragon was a few inches from him. The combination of neck bruises and the lack of air took a toll on his strength. After only a few seconds of struggling, his legs and hands gradually became limp. Rita's soul mate wore a false grin now, his blue eyes swirling with unreadable emotions.

"Don't," Amaro warned. "It would disappointment Verity to have you die, wouldn't it?" Just as swift as it came, his hand left. Bryan stumbled back, glaring at him balefully. The dragon smiled wider. "You say I don't understand? Neither do you. Not as much as I do."

Bryan's lip curled in disgust. That this idiot was oblivious to the fact that he slowly but surely killed a rare one. One of the few that was born good. One of the few who stayed good. One of the few who actually believed that evil didn't exist any where on earth. One of the few who lived life with her eyes half closed. Seeing everything with sweet blindness. Bryan believed that everybody, even creatures like Adrian Amaro, envied that blissful innocence. 

"Never mind," he muttered and turned his back to him. Bryan knew it wasn't something Amaro appreciated. He had always grabbed Rita's arm to spin her around, usually causing a bruise. 

Amaro only sighed tiredly and called out, "What the hell are you talking about?" The vampire almost stopped then. Almost turned around and explained. But that tone of voice, that dark sound…the dragon sounded as if he did know. And that he just didn't want to admit it.

"Nothing," he called back. "She used to smile all the time," he recalled to himself and swiftly made his way out of the woods and back to his car in a matter of minutes. God this was a pointless conversation. It was a pointless evening. He ended up feeling more confused than before he the carnival. He suddenly wished Verity came back. Her presence was no guarantee that she'd know what to do. But it would have been comforting to know somebody was as lost as he was. Sitting at an intersection, Bryan took a quick glance at his gas meter. Full.

He dismissed the thought. No. It was a stupid idea. 

The exit out of Anomina was just to his left. The road that led to his house was to his right. He declined to even consider it; Rita probably didn't even want to see him… 

Bryan didn't ponder his decision at all as he sped by the "Come Back Soon" sign. He refused to even think about it. 

~*~*~*~

****

analysis is anal." Marty Indik

Tried and scraped and struggled and brain stormed and I use to many "and" s. At least now Bryan's off and doing something, instead of sitting around. I'm sorry it's so short, but I thought the quote was funny! Please review!


	9. In Distress

****

Very busy this week, so messages are short. And mistakes are probably abundant, so forgive, please?

Pandie Kitten: Hello, I'm glad you decided to read my story. It's always fun when reviewers notice little things like the dialogue. Makes me happy. Oh and yeah, it's the same Fayth. Cool girl, decided to use her. Thanks for reviewing.

Skylark: Hey, I know it was short, but it has been very hectic around school. Still recovering, so messages are short. Thanks you though, and this one's longer.

Person with no name: Your compliment very, very, very gladly received, and I'll keep on keepin' on.

Tjones: Honey, half the things that come outta my mouth define lameness, so I wouldn't worry about it. But hey, I'm glad you reviewed!

Neona-deniker: Nice to know I made an improvement! Eh, but I'm pretty sure this will letyou down again. Can't help it; the ups and lows of chapters! Flashbacks of Rita was last minute decision, and I'm glad I did that. Thanks for reviewing!

****

Practikalmagik: Jeez, Bryan must hardly do anything but y'all still like him. I really don't see it, but to each his own, I guess. Any who, if it helps any, Adrian won't be smirking for long. That's it, and thanks bunchies for reviewing!

Fin: Hi, I hope I didn't guilt you into reviewing or anything. Thank you though for doing so, any way. I know, I feel bad for Jared too, but not so much Bryan. I know it's weird, he's my character, but I sorta don't like him. And if she had the capability, Maria would beat the shit outta Valdis, but pregnancy happens to ruin that scheme. I know it's boring, and this one will be too, until next chapter. Sorry!

Vague Verity

Chapter 9

****

"With that sweet look and lively tone

And Bright eye shining all the day

~*~*~*~

New York

"Hi."

"Hello."

"What are you in for?"

"Stitches. Andrea, Kyros' sister threw a fit,…and a vase."

"At you?"

"No, at Perci. I happened to be in the way."

"Fatal little goblin, isn't she?"

"The vase was the only casualty. What about you?"

"I've recently learned it is very difficult to slice a bagel."

"Oh."

"Apparently you're supposed to cut _away_ from yourself."

"Sounds reasonable."

Maria nodded in agreement, and looked around the semi private hospital room for the third time. She had been in there for ten minutes when Kyros brought Verity in. Valdis had gone to call in sick for her at the day care. Kyros left in search of lime jello. 

"How many stitches do you have?" she asked Verity.

"Ten. You?"

"Ten too! Look," Maria said, unreasonably excited, and showed her left forearm. Verity ignored the faded scars on the wrist and noticed that Maria's injury was similar to her own. "We're scar buddies now…Sorry," she said, noticing Verity's amused expression, "Wounds don't usually throw me in a Sponge Bob frenzy. I'm just so _bored_."

"Yes, well, so am I."

"I wish the guys would hurry up."

Verity appeared pensive. "I…"  


"What's the matter?" Maria asked cheerfully, swinging her feet. "Are you finally seeing that, beyond Kyros' dazzling wit and sparkling smile, he just _might_ be a _little_ irritating?"

The old soul shrugged. "I've finally confronted him about letting me go back to Anomina. He didn't exactly agree."

Maria snorted. "Did you just say 'letting me'? When did we revert back to the Middle Ages? Wait, that's wrong, because during the Middle Ages New York City had Native Americans and no strict rules for women…come to think of it there was no New York City at all…I digress. Any way, just go. You don't have to have his permission."

"There's that little problem of money, transportation…"

"Oh yeah," Maria realized, but moved one with, "So you're saying you're willing to face small town life again? Are you sure you're ready for all the bright lights? The hustle and bustle of town square? Those rude cows who moo if you take too long crossing the street? Beware jaywalkers!"

"Do you ever tire of being sarcastic?" Verity huffed, turning away from an anatomy poster. Maria pretended to contemplate.

"Hmm…nope. Wait, wait, there was this one time…nope." The pregnant woman laughed when Verity scowled. "All right, I'll quit. Seriously, though, is everything internally resolved?"

"Good phrasing."

"Thanks, I like it myself. 'Internally resolved'…I'm great," Maria chuckled. "But guess who's avoiding a question…her name starts with Rita and ends with Glisscielle…"  


"I wrote," Verity interrupted, disliking that knowing look her friend possessed. "It helped. Here, I have it with me." Rita dug a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket and handed it to Maria. 

After a few minutes of perusing, Maria gazed at her with narrowed, glowing eyes. "This isn't what I had in mind." Verity shrugged. Aloud, Maria read:

"'Pros of Kyros : funny, dependable, older, well connected, tall.' Tall?" 

"I felt it would be unfair to give him just four. Keep on reading."

"'Cons of Kyros: stubborn, childish, tendency towards denial, smokes, drinks, swears, presumptuous, foul mouthed, older…' Older? That's a pro and a con?"

"Pro because it's good to have a man of experience, who knows what he's doing…"  


"Are you talking about…boom-boom experience?" That suggestive tone earned Maria a painful pinch in the side.

"Maria, please behave for five minutes. I don't want to date a man who's going through his post adolescent what-does-it-all-mean phase. How's a girl supposed to think about love when her date's pondering the reason of everything?"

"Good point. Con?"

"I'm pretty sure Kyros is breaking some sort of law. The man is like…three years older then me, at least."

"Another good point, you clever little jail bait, you. Next… 'Pros of Bryan: older…' Could there be a trend here? 'knows me, knows my family, well connected, able to focus on just one girl, does not drink, does not smoke, swears minimally, abides by my rules, rich…' I'm beginning to think somebody's overqualified."

Verity smiled.

"'Cons of Bryan: somewhat moody, somewhat emotionally paranoid…' That's it?"

"So you see, it makes perfect sense for me to go back to Anomina."  


"Just because this Bryan has more pros than Kyros?" Maria asked, disbelief written on her face. "Well, examine their skin samples under a microscope, why don't ya? I meant some romantic, rambling poem! Not a scientific, impersonal lab write up."

"I get high scores on my lab write ups," Rita informed her coolly. There was a certain sensibility in Verity's eyes that Maria felt helpless against. She simply shook her head, knowing very well that any argument would fall on deaf, equally sensible ears. 

~*~*~*~

Anomina

"I've spoken to Thierry," Winnie sighed, plopping on a recliner. Quinn, Fayth, Rashel, and Rik sat around her in the living room. 

"So he'll buy the Glisscielle's?" Rashel asked. Winnie nodded.

"Whether Rita will want it or not is yet to be found," Quinn droned. 

All heads turned to see Jared arriving, soaked through and through from the freezing rain. His face was flushed with warmth, however.

"What is it?" Rik asked, concerned. He hadn't seen Jared this worked up in weeks.

"The prick," Jared panted, peeling off his t shirt, "he's gone."

"Which prick would this be?" Fayth asked, knowing that many a class mate fit into this category.

"Smith. Vamoosed."

"Do you think he went to New York?" Rashel asked, alarmed. Jared shook the water out of his hair and made his way to the kitchen.

"It's the place to be," Quinn replied.

"Should we send a warning, or something?" Fayth asked Quinn, who didn't answer. She turned to Rashel, who shrugged, preoccupied with something. Fayth turned to Rik, who also shrugged at her leaders' indifference. She wished she could leave the suffocating gloom of the apartment, but the weather was not permitting. Surprisingly, it was the witch who answered.

"Rita'll be fine. Bryan doesn't want to hurt her." Rashel, nor Quinn, bothered to question. After a few more beats of silence, Winnie sighed. "Boss," she said quietly, addressing just Rashel, "can't we abort?" While the very word disgusted Fayth, Rashel was not so quick to judge. Instead, she kept her face neutral.

"No Daybreak mission has ever been aborted," the dark haired girl replied levelly.

"Well then can I abort?" Winnie asked, something like defiance in her voice. "I'm tired of screwing up in this town. I want to leave before I go and kill another family. Hell, why not just send the entire senior class to an enclave?"  


"Be quiet, Winnie," Quinn ordered without emotion. "Nobody objected when they heard the relocation for the Glisscielle's. So nobody's to blame."

"Nobody or everybody?" Winnie already had a low opinion of herself, and the others, for not thinking clearly on that matter. Of course a safe house in the country was ten times safer than a safe house in busy Boston.

"Does it really help the situation?" Quinn snapped. "What are we going to tell Thierry? That his best agents don't like the feeling of failure, so find somebody new? That's not what we came here for."

"Oh, so you guys _did_ come to ruin Rita's life?" came Jared's mock-surprised question. "Great job guys," he smiled, his voice cold, and gave them a thumb's up when he left the kitchen. "I knew I could count on you."

"Shove it, Jared," Rik warned. "Don't get pissed at us just 'cause you lost your girlfriend."

"And don't get pissed at me because you can't get one," he shot back, hurt by his best friend's comment. Rik hadn't even spoken a word when Cornelia broke off their three year relationship; instead he handed Jared a beer. It was a rule; Jared didn't comment about Fayth, and Rik didn't comment about whoever. It was a _rule_.

"Jared…wait," Rik growled in frustration when Jared turned and walked out, back into the rain that he had just dried off. "Damn."

"Let's just ignore Rita," Fayth suggested delicately. She hesitated when the eyes turned to her, full of dismay and incredulity at her words. "Oh, don't give me that shit. None of you liked her to be in the way in the first place. Now she's gone, and she's all you're worrying about."

"I'm seriously reconsidering my crush on you," Rik told her, perfectly grave. Fayth returned his black gaze.

"I'm sorry if I don't meet your standards, Rik Pinesworth." The vampire winced at the use of the full name. "But we, as agents, should refocus. I do feel sorry for Verity and her family, but that's three people…well, technically now one. There's still three hundred people to think about at Anomina High. Let's think about them first, and then worry about Verity."

"But Verity was the prime girl to find the threat," Winnie whined.  


"Which was our mistake to begin with. Let's do this with Daybreakers, and Daybreakers only."

"Well good luck with that," Rik said wryly. "I mean, I don't have a card or anything…do I kicked out of the tree house?"

Fayth did not answer. Nor did any of the others. It was not a rejection nor a welcome of his presence. The fact of the matter was that no one cared whether or not Pinesworth stayed. While his work was no significantly helpful, it was not distressingly damaging, as Jared had been, on account of his silently disapproved attachment to the bait. There was a quiet and unanimous decision to adhere to Fayth's plan, although she was not the leader and relatively last in rank. Having no more arguments, the agents immediately, if not unwillingly, went to work. They severed ties with the doubtful supernatural species, and strengthened the bonds with the apparently "good." 

Unfortunately, the renewed spirit and deeper in-depth investigation led to a variety of interesting, but futile dead ends, as dead ends usually were. Quinn was put in charge with their public relations, he drawing the most respect from the neutrals—it was rumored _he_ set the cabin on fire, winning the honor of fiftieth or fifty first attempt on Hunter Redfern's life. Did you hear about the new possible leader, one werewolf asked excitedly. I heard it's gonna be a woman, a shifter supplied, inanely. But another had claimed that no, no, it was not a woman, but a very powerful warlock. A vampire contradicted; I have it on strictest confidence it is a dragon, the last dragon on earth. The Council wouldn't make the mistake of letting another vampire lead it…no offense, Quinn, another werewolf giggled.

And Quinn would assure that none was taken, that he was right, that the news was wonderful, that the info was very interesting… During the political discussions, Quinn wondered when in the world he became so popular. What happened to the days when everybody was afraid of the disturbingly unbalanced Boston vampire? Hunter even backed off sometimes. Had he gone so soft? Just when did his public image crumble? Shaking off the signals of what would be his third mid life crisis, Quinn cut through the unneeded details. "I just want to know about Orin's plan."

And the answer was the same. I don't know. Ask Adrian Amaro. 

But there was no connection, damn it all. While Quinn was certain that Amaro had no shining character, he certainly wasn't the type to sit down with the obsequious Morice. In the levels of evilness, as Quinn remembered them to be, Morice was petty, and Amaro was somewhere far, far above. The sooner as he understood the relationship, the sooner he'd be able to find a chink in it. 

During his dour musing, reverting between theories, and writing all characteristics of each on a note pad, Winnie sailed into his room. Because he did not answer her questions (at least satisfactorily) and, no matter how sad the situation, a witch's curiosity could not be leashed, the witch stole the pad away from him to read.

"Oh," she said, a large dose of disgust in her voice, "it's Morice."

"Not exactly Amaro's type. I've been trying forever to figure out why Amaro would talk, let alone help, Morice."

"You mean what's Morice got over him?"

"That's right," Quinn replied tiredly. 

"Well," Winnie said airily, plopping on the bed beside where he sat, "I wouldn't be surprised if Morice pulled some unfair strings to get an advantage of Amaro. Plus Morice Orin doesn't have the leverage with the Night World people here that a dragon would have. I don't think anybody, even the humans, would trust him with a crayon. I highly doubt they'd follow his plan if he was in charge of explosives."

"You seem to know the vampiric pimple fairly well," Quinn commented, amused. "What else?"

"Other than the fact that he has the worst pick up lines in the world, he knows how to con a man—woman. I almost lost fifty bucks to him."

"Why?" 

"We made a bet about how many times this natural disaster would stumble walking down the hall. Bastard had pre greased certain spots. Orin must have studied her for a while, to know. Thank goddess Bryan told me. He's just a slimy, yucky, gross snake."

"I wouldn't sit down for a game of cards with him," Quinn agreed, and resumed his character study. After a few unsuccessful minutes of trying to sleep, Winnie sat up and helped add some details about both, until Rashel entered and called Winnie to supper.

~*~*~*~

New York

"You can't just move out! I fell in love with you!" Here came the spirited echoes paralleling Kyros indignation. "We fell in love with you!"

Verity stopped just before she opened the front door. "Don't quote that movie. I found it offensive."

"Dude man, Dogma rocked…" Tro began, and the fellows immediately began recalling their favorite parts. 

" 'Don't run! Don't run!'" Kyros laughed. They weren't too distracted, however, to fail to notice Verity's hand slowly turning the knob.

"Hey, no, this is just wrong. I take you in, feed you, clothe you, and this is the thanks I get!" Kyros sputtered, trying to tower over her. "I hope you realize that this lowers my opinion of Franco-Spanish teenage girls, all over America!"

Verity shrugged helplessly. Thankfully Mr. and Mrs. Snow was out, otherwise leaving for Maria's would have been totally impossible. She glanced at each boy, noting how each was shamelessly trying to appear as sad as possible. But when her green eyes returned to Kyros, he saw that they didn't have the qualities persuadable, quivering lime jello, but that of set, stubborn emeralds. 

"Kyros Bob Steve Snow. You took me in, but then you refused to let me out. You don't just feed me, you seem to have the crazy notion that I eat as much as you. Nobody eats as much as you…All of the US doesn't eat as much as you. Do you realize how many times I've gotten sick from over eating?" Kyros shrugged, looking at his friends for support. They also shrugged in response.

"And you 'clothe' me? Kyros," Rita said, pulling out something from her…no _his_ duffel bag. She held out a band of hot pink material, about six inches wide. "Giving me a head band and calling it a skirt does not qualify as 'clothing' me. I'm sorry boys, I really am, but…I can't always baby sit."

"Wait, no!" Verity had already made it out the door. She couldn't very well make it down the steps with Khepri clinging to her leg, though. "If you leave, Andrea will stop waiting on us hand and foot."

"But I told her to stop that three days ago…didn't you give her my message?" Verity frowned down at Khepri, who merely looked sheepish and shrugged. A few feet from them, Maria and Valdis waited in a taxi cab, speaking animatedly.

When the driver opened the door briefly, an "I hate you Valdis Eldson!" escaped, but silence resumed when all Verity's luggage had been placed in the trunk.

"Man, I wish you were wearing that skirt right now," Khepri muttered, still clinging to Rita's leg. Slightly disgusted, an emotion Verity had grown accustomed to, she shook the boy off and seated herself in the cab. Looking back, she saw the triplets half heartedly running after the car. She really didn't understand the big deal. Maria's apartment was fifteen minutes away.

Verity learned to tune out the Eldson arguments, unless she was particularly bored. While crawling through traffic, Rita decided the unhappy people outside the window weren't that interesting, and turned to the couple beside her.

"Screw you, Maria. Spoiled brat."

"Screw you and the horse you rode in on. Man-whore."

"Screw you and… Ceberus!" Which, Verity thought silently, Valdis really didn't mean. He loved that dog.

Not to be outdone, Maria retorted, "Screw you, and your mama, and the horse you rode in on, and the horse's mama!"

That wasn't nice. Valdis' mother was dead. "Maria," Verity interrupted calmly. It was impressive how fast their expressions changed from loving hatred to gentle attentiveness. "You're looking well."

"Thank you, you're very sweet," Maria told her sincerely. "Some idiots," she continued in the same, sugary tone, "think I'm as frail as a demented butterfly."

"You have the demented part right," Valdis told her with a tight smile. He kissed her temple tenderly, taking away any malice he had in the comment. "Drop me off here." They kissed each other good bye, leaving the two girls alone.

Maria caught Verity's questioning look. "Job interview. Our neighbors are starting to wonder where he gets the money. Pimp was crossed out by my pregnancy. But the drug dealer idea is being supported by all the things we've thrown…my baby could be a Yankees pitcher!" Maria realized loudly. 

Verity smiled as Maria began to formulate her baby's future. She was glad she had another grown woman to talk to. Her reason for moving was partially because of Maria's audible plea for somebody _sane_ to live with, and Valdis' secret request to have a friend around to help Maria with the little things. When they reached their destination, Rita immediately insisted on carrying her own two bags, and before Maria could protest, the pregnant woman's library books.

"It's all right really," Rita told her laughingly when she heard Maria grumblings on the stairwell. "You could fall or something…"

"Are you saying I'm clumsy? Or worse, are you saying I'm fat?" Verity didn't understand the rational path to the last question, and wisely avoided an answer. 

~*~*~*~

Las Vegas, Nevada

"And, sir?"

"What is it Nilsson?" Thierry asked, not looking up from his desk.

"I have taken two messages in the last twenty minutes…is your phone broken?" Now Thierry did look up and gave a sheepish grin.

"Sorry Nilsson…Hannah came in and…" That seemed to explain it all. Nilsson merely smiled, understanding, handed him the messages, and left to uproot some remnants of Simon Savannah's visit. There should be a rule, Nilsson believed, that nobody under the age of seventeen should be allowed to even look at Ash Redfern or Kyros Snow; the influence was much too mischievous and shamefully incurable.

Thierry looked at the slips of paper. One was a request from Quinn and Rashel, on finding any information on a dragon named Adrian Amaro, or the Amaro family. The other was the somewhat laconic message from Valdis Eldson, urging a quick response. He thought it strange that Valdis should ask for him and not Hannah, because the Elder himself barely knew the man. He respected him certainly, for being able to live with the brat, but not enough to form a friendship.

Prioritizing, Thierry began to work on the Amaro case. Before the Battle, there would have been dozens of agents available for this sort of research. But now, some had taken that long overdue vacation they planned, some had found closure and no longer fought the good fight, and some were on extermination missions. Thierry felt an odd tug at his heart when he saw his Daybreakers pick up and leave two by two's; he supposed it would the closest he'd get to a man watching his children leave the nest.

The library, which had always been blissfully empty, was in the process of being entered into the Daybreak computer system. The task was immense, and only an eighth of the information Thierry possessed had been successfully recorded. So after five minutes at his desk, Thierry was forced to climb the ladders and manually search for the suspect's history. 

He learned that, before the witches' coup d'etat, the Amaro's were a prominent dragon family. Noble blooded and, of course, feared. Known for their back stabbing, outside the family as well as within. The family motto was laughably arrogant; simply _Cave Amaro_; Beware of Amaro. And to think that the might dragon family had only one descendent left; the second to last, an older brother, fighting and dying in the Final Battle. Nothing in particular about Adrian's features, however. 

As a matter of fact, this Amaro seemed to sporadically disappear off the face of the earth. Awakened just before the Middle Ages, he stayed in Europe for a few centuries. After the French Revolution, however, he vanished. Late nineteen nineties, he visited a few enclaves on the East Coast, and then vanished again. Flipping more pages of a journal of an enclave leader, Thierry noticed a curious detail. For four days, Adrian Amaro was on the same enclave as Ash Redfern.

Thierry promptly emailed Quinn the news, knowing it would give him an excuse to call his best friend in Arizona. He had almost left the library before he remembered Eldson's message. 

The number the vampire left did not begin with a New York City area code, so Thierry suspected that it was his cell phone. 

"Hello?"

"Eldson, this is Descouedres. What's the problem?" There was a long pause and the voice of an irritated man in the background. "Am I interrupting something?"

The voice stopped. "No, you just got me kicked out of a job interview. I'm glad though, I was only doing it because Maria wants me to…and you know Maria."

"The problem, Eldson," he prompted. He didn't want a social conversation right now; he just wanted to join Hannah in her nap. 

"Yeah. You know Maria's condition."

"The bringing a new life into the world condition?"

"I always knew you were the smart Elder."

"Weren't you the one who tried to assassinate me for incompetence?"

"Of course not," Valdis replied, offended. "I was trying to get the guy next to you. And I did," he added, the tone of pride slipping in by habit, "a week after."

"Eldson…"  


"Right. We need to visit. Not a social call, I just need your medical equipment."

"Are there no hospitals in New York?"  


"Maria refuses to go, and you and I both know it's not exactly a normal baby. The little brat's weak as hell sometimes, and unnecessarily so. I figured I'd just take her to your house on the pretense of a visit, and then get her a check up."

"I'll have to call a midwife. And won't Maria object to leaving in the middle of the semester?"  


"She'll have to leave any way."

"Does she know that?"

"No, not really. But I'll convince her…or kidnap, whichever word you prefer. We also have an extra guest, if you don't mind. A friend of Kyros."

Thierry grimaced, for he had met many friends of Kyros. "Which one?"

"A Verity Glisscielle. She's very helpful, very mature. Maria seems to like her. So will you send your jet?"

"Wait a second, I never even said yes!"

"Well it's not like you'll say no. And I don't want Maria to fly commercial."

"For the baby's sake?"

"Of course not, an Eldson baby is remarkably strong. _She's_ liable to hurt somebody, especially if the flight attendants are too friendly."

"Eldson…" As much as he owed to Maria, and despite the number of times she was randomly kind, Thierry did not want to spend more than a week with her and her husband. Nobody would ever get sleep. All accents in each room would be thrown and broken at all hours.

"Maybe I should just tell Hannah how ungenerous you're being to one of the four people who saved the world from eternal enslavement."

Thierry sighed. "It is amazingly _wrong_ how you let Maria influence you. Fine, fine…you know where my hangar is."

Valdis smiled, even when the Elder hung up without a warning. The smile stayed there all the way home, a sort of complacency in knowing that he would win this weeks long debate about a check up, without Maria ever knowing.

But when he arrived, however, Verity greeted him with an apologetic, apprehensive face.

"She's extraordinarily stealthy for a pregnant woman," was all she said, wringing her hands.

"Where did she go?"

Verity retreated to the kitchen before answering. "Um…walking." Nervously, she began to sort out the clutter on the counters, while Valdis tried, unsuccessfully, to mutter his ill opinion of his stubborn soul mate without frightening the girl. After a few minutes, he seemed to conquer his anger and cheerfully asked her out to a late lunch. 

"All right," she conceded, now that the right side of the kitchen was clean. "But when will she come back?" 

"Later tonight, maybe early tomorrow. When she goes jogging, she sometimes goes to Martha's. If it's too late, she'll sleep over. In the meantime, I think I better call your school."

She wasn't sure she heard that right. "My school?"

"Yes," he said, drawing her out the door, "You've been out for nearly two weeks. And I assume Kyros, nor any either Snow, hasn't taken care of that. Does a family emergency cover a few weeks out?" Rita still looked at him doubtfully, and he tried to smile reassuringly. "I am of age, and the oldest of the household. Does it cover it?"

"Not normally…but for me, probably. You'll want to speak to the principal." Valdis nodded and hailed a cab. The next question, she thought, was very strange and completely unrelated.

"Do you get air sick?"

~*~*~*~

Anomina

Two rings and then a cheerful, "Yellow?"

Quinn frowned. "Since when did you answer the phone with a crayon?"

His best friend sighed exaggeratedly. "Quinn, Quinn, Quinn…didn't you get the newsletter? Ever since leaving the Circle, Ash Redfern has become sickeningly cheerful, even in the _morning_."

"Quinn would like Ash to stop talking in third person now," the vampire said flatly, looking out the window. Still raining. Anomina had been that way since a few days after Rita's departure. All it needed was Noah and the boat. 

"Well maybe Ash will continue since it bugs you. As a matter of fact, I…damn, I ruined it. What do you want?"

"October eleventh through the fifteenth, ninety five."

There was a long pause. "So what…you want me to give you the days, or something?"

"No stupid—"

"I'm stupid? You're asking for four days here. Freak."

"Shut up. A dragon was on your enclave for those days. Reportedly, you went to the same places."

"I _knew_ you were stalking me back then! What, did my dad pay you or something?"

"Ash!" Quinn exclaimed impatiently.

"No, that's _my_ name. You're—"

"Very tired. Listen, Ash, this is an immensely screwed up mission. But…"

"My little overachiever refuses to fail. How _cute_. I remember when I used to be like that, for dear old dad. Ah, the days of yore…"

Again, a few moments of silence. "My what?"

"Huh?" Ash asked, startled.

"You were saying the days of my something."  


He heard Ash laugh. "No, I meant Y-O-R-E, not Y-O-U-R. You know, it means back then. Didn't you use it in colonial Boston?"

"No, I don't think so," Quinn replied, pondering. "That might have been a bit before my time."

"You mean the days of yore?" Ash asked, laughing again. Quinn joined him. Then, he heard:

"_FOR GOD'S SAKE, JUST GET THE DAMN INFORMATION_!" 

Tentatively pulling the phone back to his ear, Ash whispered, as if Rashel was in _his_ room, "Quinn?"

"Yeah?" His best friend had the same cautious tone.

"Are you sure that girl's a keeper?"  


"Positive, and she does have a point. What do you know of Adrian Amaro?"

"Keeps a low profile. Kind of quiet. You know…the dragon version of those humans who build home bombs and play with Barbies the _wrong_ way."

"What would he have in common with Morice Orin?"

"Favorite tv programs, maybe?"

"Ash," Quinn warned.

"God, Quinn, how am I supposed to know? Their card table was all the way across the room from mine!"

Quinn let out a breath. "Ash—" He couldn't believe he had been so stupid. 

"And it's not like I'd be sitting there, fold my royal flush, just to walk over and listen to their conversation!"

"Ash…"

"Poker's all about bluffing, you see, and if I looked like I was unsure for one second…oh," he breathed with realization. "Gambling."

"You always were a fast one. You see, we've been trying to figure why the hell Amaro would work with an Orin."

"Nasty lineage, I'm fairly certain there was inbreeding. Uncle Daddy's, and Grandmother Aunties and such. Why not just kill the Orin? One less bastard in the world."

"We've considered that, but decided against it. Orin might be holding information that Amaro needs. Kill the slug, piss off the dragon."

"You are ridiculously bright. Do you want a cookie for that rationalizing?"

"I'd prefer a tone of voice that wasn't condescending nor sarcastic. Think you can manage?"

"I'll stop being sarcastic once you're tall enough to ride the roller coasters… Mare's calling me. Gotta go."

Upon hearing the dial tone, Quinn hung up and left the guest room. Only to find the rest of the team listening outside.

"All for torturing Morice?" Winnie suggested and raised her hand. Fayth and Rik followed suit, and even Jared from the couch waved his enthusiastically. Quinn and Rashel frowned. "What? I said torture, not kill. Though…near death isn't taboo, is it?"

"You know Thierry doesn't like that," Rashel reminded them as they all moved the meeting to the living room. There they discussed all possibilities. Quinn reiterated that torture was out of the question, although Jared was not hesitant to suggest it constantly. Fayth proposed a raid on Orin's house, but the idea was abandoned when they heard of Orin's equally oily neighbors. It was decided long after supper that an agent should buy whatever Orin had, or make a bet in order to obtain it.

"But wouldn't that let another bad guy win?" Jared asked, mentally reviewing the plan for loop holes. "Adrian ends up getting what he wants."  


Rik sighed and shrugged. "I guess letting a bad guy win is better than letting three hundred kids die."

Jared scoffed, "Three hundred kids. The loss of a teenagers. I'm pretty sure that, even if they did die, it's nothing complimentary vodka and Viagra wouldn't recover. Anomina could host the world's biggest orgy."

Winnie wrinkled her nose. "That's crass, Jared."

"Yeah," he agreed, not really understanding what she said, "but it'd work."

~*~*~*~

New York

Verity knew about the travel plans long before Maria did. They were to leave in about a week, and Rita knew that Valdis planned to tell his wife the day before flight. During the week, Verity played the part of ever faithful assistant. She cleaned and picked up after their clumsy dog. She distracted Maria whenever the college student took the notion of jogging or taking a walk in the late evening or early morning. Slowly and unnoticeably, Verity dominated most of the house hold chores. It was probably unnoticed because naps came more and more frequently to Maria. 

Kyros visited, sometimes with his friends. Valdis withstood three nights before he frankly told them to behave or leave. Verity missed them occasionally.

They ate out less and less, and ordered in more and more. For a few days, she had the urge for all Chinese, after a bout of constant Italian. Valdis informed Rita that this was typical behavior, not the effects of pregnancy. Normally he never gave into her food demands, but this time if he didn't, she'd go out herself, at all hours. Verity and Valdis were sent on quests constantly, alone or paired together. 

About midmorning on Sunday, after Maria and Verity had attended Mass, Maria spotted a new Chinese restaurant just two blocks from her home. It took much persuasion, but finally Verity was all but shoved in the general direction. With Valdis gone to another interview, Maria knew she would walk to an empty home. And it was about time, too, because she was sick and tired of having them fuss over her, thinking they were subtle about it. 

"Hello!" she told the empty apartment. "I _did_ get accepted into college; I'm not a total idiot!"

She grabbed some leftover sweet and sour chicken from the kitchen and walked into her bedroom, which she shared with Verity. Maria nearly walked into Rita's cot when she saw it wasn't Ceberus waiting for her.

"Holy shit!" she sputtered, dropping the Styrofoam container. "There's no such thing," she corrected herself softly.

It was a vampire, and an unhappy one at that. There was a certain determination in his orange eyes that frightened the bejeezus out of her. As she backed away, and naturally he advanced, Maria wondered whether it was she or Valdis who left the door unlocked. Just two minutes ago, she had been vocally confirming her intelligence

"You're a vampire. A bad one." For some reason, she was more afraid presently than the last time she found an uninvited leech in her home. Because this time, it wasn't just her life at stake.

The bad vampire seemed more surprised than herself. Unfortunately, he recovered quickly, and whatever intent he arrived with was replaced with something for her.

"And you're the fourth wild power. The bad one." 

Good god, this was just a child. Common sense had never been her strong point, especially during possible attacks. Besides, she was sure her baby wouldn't want a cowardly mother. Her uncontrollable mouth said, "This is positively insulting. They're sending boys whose voice has barely changed!" Maria took a step forward, jabbing her finger at his chest. "Well you tell them this, punk. It's going to take a lot more than some fresh outta school rookie to get rid of Maria Yolken Tybal…Eldson! And Valdis Eldson Junior!"

The little "rookie" assassin made the mistake of laughing. During those five seconds, Maria turned around and grabbed her bat leaning against the dresser. Before he could let out another chuckle, Maria raised the weapon above her head and then let gravity do the work. 

"Oh my…damn …" the vampire moaned in pain. He slowly sank to the floor, his hands holding the injured spot on his head. Maria frowned down at him; the strike was supposed to cause unconsciousness. She raised the bat again and this time slammed it down with all her strength, which, she was sorry to admit, hadn't been up to par lately.

A few moments later, she heard the front door swing open. Valdis called out to her.

"Maria, how many times have I told you to lock the door? And I can't believe you forced Verity to buy you food directly after church. I thought they taught you some morals in there."

"I'm fine," Rita assured her friend. "And come on before the fried rice gets cold." The only response either got was a shaky invitation to the girl's room.

The sight they found was not exactly dramatic, but also not entirely funny. Valdis let out a few chuckles before Rita hushed him and peered closely at the intruder.

"The little ass hole was just sitting here…who the hell came up with that myth about vampires not being able to come in uninvited?" Maria wondered as Valdis propped him up on a chair.

"Maria!" Verity wailed, trying to slap the boy awake. "This is Bryan!"

She had been extremely proud of herself until then. "W-what?"

"This is Bryan Smith, the one who has more pros than Kyros."

"There are a lot of guys who have more pros than Kyros," Valdis interjected dryly. Again, Rita sent him a quelling look and ordered him to get some ice.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry Rita," Maria apologized sorrowfully. "Well, that's a lie. I'm partially sorry, he seemed impertinent. Had it coming."

It took almost ten minutes for Bryan to vaguely respond to Rita's pleas. Another five to open his eyes, and then three to form whole sentences. By then, Valdis had returned with the ice.

"Thank god she doesn't hit that hard," he mumbled. Rita delicately fingered his scalp, and caused him to wince when she lightly touched the bump.

"Bryan, whatever are you doing here?" she asked exasperated. Rita waited for his answer as she placed the ice bag on his head and heard Maria giggle at his grim expression.

"Looking for you. New York's a big city."

"Apparently," Rita replied, her anxiety gone. "Why?" She was about to sit back on the floor when Bryan's hands shot up to hold her arms, keeping her hands laced through his hair.

"I missed you," he told her simply, staring into her eyes. God, he missed those eyes. She looked perfect; glasses, sensible clothes, curly hair in that cute little bun. Perfect. 

"Hey now, no hanky panky in this apartment," Maria warned.

"At least any more," Valdis added. The younger couple did not respond.

"Do you think they're stuck like that?" Maria asked.

"If they are, you're going to have trouble walking around them, aren't ya?"

Rita finally realized the impropriety of the situation, and pulled back suddenly. But not before Bryan placed a light, chaste kiss on her cheek when she turned to her hosts. Now even more uncomfortable, Rita maneuvered herself to Maria's bed, and stared at anything but her friend.

"How the hell did you get past my dog?"  


Bryan gave a snort at Maria's question. "He's sleeping in the other bedroom. Took a helluva long time to convince that I wasn't here to play fetch."

"It's almost embarrassing," Valdis muttered, who then left to ensure nothing was chewed beyond recognition. 

"All right, so you're not here to kill me. And if the drive took longer than four hours, I would have called this romantic. What are you doing here?" Rita studied her friend, and suspected Maria would always harbor a bad cop fantasy.

"I told you already—"

"Yeah, and I heard it. So she's here, you got your kiss, now scram!"

"Maria, really," Rita chided.

"He scared me!" Maria excused her behavior.

"Yeah, well you _hit_ me! With a bat!"

"Thank you for informing me…as if I wasn't the one _holding_ it."

"Children," Rita admonished. "Bryan, seriously now, what are you here for? Your purpose, I mean."

Now Bryan appeared nervous. He avoided her gaze and ran his hands through his hair, as if to clear his thoughts. "A few weeks ago, you said you'd go to the Soiree with me."

Rita was sure her eyebrows would rise off her head, she was so surprised. That was what he came for? After all that's happened, he came to make sure she kept her date with him? 

"Things were a little different a few weeks ago, Bryan," Rita retorted, eyebrows now furrowed. She saw Bryan became a bit more frustrated. It was now that she fully took in the sight of him. He looked…sort of wrinkled. It wasn't just his clothes, but himself…worn out, over used. Bryan looked like he needed some help. 

"I know, and I'm sor—" He stopped short. "I know, but I was hoping that you would come back for you know…me," he finished weakly.  


"As I recall, you weren't terribly happy with me the last time we spoke," Verity pointed out.

"Yeah well I had reason, didn't I?" Bryan threw back without thinking. "Besides, what are you going to do here? Keep that shifter company?"

"And the circus," Maria added, but meekly hushed at Rita's glare.

"I can't believe," Rita said coolly," that you came all the way to New York just to reassert our date and then lecture me for something I've already apologized for."

A pregnant pause. "Damn," Maria muttered, "good luck finding a comeback for that one."

Bryan, however, did not waste time scrambling for a response. Instead he asked, rather confusedly, "You just said 'reassert,' right? As in…it's already and still asserted."

"Goodness gracious, Bryan. You take all this time to stalk me and then you don't even pay proper attention to what I'm saying? Yes I said 'reassert'!"

"You," he began, anger surfacing, "have the most uncanny gift of manipulating my words—" Before he could finish his argument, Maria cleared her throat, looking pointedly between Rita and her pursuer. 

And naturally, Rita didn't understand. Maria continued with the expression, occasionally tilting her head towards Bryan and then towards the door. It would have gone on forever until Bryan exploded with, "For god's sake, just say it out loud!"

"Rita, I thought you said you wanted to leave New York," Maria said.

"Oh…that's right I did, didn't I?"

Bryan studied her, puzzled. "So you're unhappy because…?" 

"I suppose your reason wasn't too noble, now was it?" she snapped. Bryan arose from his seat, still holding the ice pack on his head, and walked to her.

"I came because I missed you. That's it, plain and simple."

"But _why_?" Rita asked, utterly confused by his feelings for her, and stared up at him.

Bryan shrugged, then looked at Maria as if wishing her absence. Though she took the hint, the woman simply crossed her arms and leaned against the door way, silently stating her status as chaperone. 

"I honestly don't know how to put it into words. All I know is that when you left, I kept thinking about you. That damn message made it worse, you know. Every little thought somehow led to Verity Glisscielle."

"Cheesy," Maria pretended to cough. Rita gave him a look that silently advised him to ignore her pregnant friend. Bryan continued.

"And most of the things I was thinking…I really shouldn't have been thinking of."

"Randy," Maria coughed again. 

He shifted from one foot to another. "Please?" He then gave the melting look, hoping desperately that her immunity had worn off.

~*~*~*~

"Nope, no way."

Rik sighed, and looked around the club. He couldn't wait till some more agents came to tear it down. Maybe next year. "Come on, Morice, easy bet."

"What I got is worth more than what I make in a year. Besides, if I lose it to you, which is very unlikely my friend, what'll I say to Amaro when he does the deed?"

"Send him over to us."

"Yeah, but will I live to recommend you's guys once the words, 'I don't have it' pop outta my mouth?"

Rik shrugged again, and tried ignore the flirtatious grin from an overly friendly female. "You always said you were the fastest vampire."

Morice turned back to his drink. "Shut up."

"You can't even tell me what it is?"

"Nope. And why are you so interested any way?"

Rik pretended to recoil from the question, and partially turned away. He feigned a dark frown for good measure. "Amaro's been…messing with Fayth lately. I just need an advantage over him. Come on, Morice, we've been pals for a long time." The mention of friendship nearly burned in his mouth. 

Rik felt two sympathetic thumps on his back. "You're right about that. And I'd be worrying, too. If a vermin's gotta choice between a dragon or a fat vampire, you know who'd she choose."

__

Fat? Rik wondered. "I'm stocky."

The silver haired "friend" gave a chuckle. "All right. Listen, because you seem to be on the right path again…I'll give you this much. Three months ago, I had a 'rematch' with Amaro. I beat him a few years back, and the guy don't like losin'."

"Did you beat him fairly?"

Morice gave a grin. "Are you really asking me that?" Rik shook his head, giving a false grin back. "You know what was in the pool that I won?" He paused dramatically. "A deed."

"You mean that's what he's killing a bunch of hum—vermin for? Property?" Morice nodded complacently, smiling. "What is it—beach front, pent house, Parisian…?

Morice shrugged. "Hell, I haven't even seen the place. Skiing kinda spot, you know. But apparently it's worth a lot."

"And will you give it up once Amaro's done?"

"Yeah, gambler's honor."

__

Well, if that_ wasn't an oxymoron…_

Rik tersely thanked him and left immediately. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. Icy sidewalks were unavoidable. On his way home, Rik met up with a few of his classmates, and more teachers than satisfactory. It was relatively peaceful; few Anomina residents usually braved such conditions. And yet they refused to cancel school, Rik privately lamented.

He was standing on the corner of Walk and Don't Walk when he noticed a familiar Land Cruiser pass by at a disgracefully slow speed. The windows were tinted, but not so much so that Rik couldn't see who was driving so carefully. Bryan Smith and a remote Verity Glisscielle.

"Jared said that prick left," Rik wondered to himself. Then he hurried home to correct the werewolf.

~*~*~*~

"It's still here," she said softly. Bryan turned to her sharply, but all he could find in her eyes was the image of the house.

Without another word, she moved to the front door, slipping in as if all was well. Although uninvited, Bryan followed, fascinated by her behavior. From the edge of the living room, he saw Rita move about, doing nothing and everything.

She entered the kitchen, minutes later leaving to see to something in the bathroom. Her hands rearranged this and then moved that back to its original location. Rita moved as fast as possible, and at the same time almost slowly, as if she was reluctant to continue. Moving by a habits she hated. 

"I'm sorry it's so dirty," she apologized, and gestured for him to sit. She left again, not hearing his refusal. Thinking resistance was futile, Bryan took a spot on the couch. It gave him a better angle of Verity, who continued to glide about like a ghostly maid. Her redundant cleaning of the neat house echoed randomly. 

"Rita," he called. Sitting here, while she cleaned, felt very wrong.

For a while she didn't answer. Just moving to and fro, going into every room except one. Sometimes, with a glassy eyes, she turned to look at him as she passed through the living room. With the same expression, she'd glance out the window. Looking for images, not wanting to see others.

"Verity?"

"My cat's gone," she stated, her expression and voice colorless. His date moved away from the window, and he noticed the sky was now darker than before. How long had he been sitting here?

"I was worried that there wouldn't be food for him…It's dusty, isn't it?" By now she stood directly in front of him. Only a coffee table separated them, which was now studied sternly by the owner. "It's shameful to have a guest when it's so dusty…" she mumbled to herself and crossed the room to the broom closet. Bryan's eyes followed her, unsure, when she returned with a cleaning napkin.

"Rita." He smiled a little when she actually looked up and at him, not through him. "It's all right. It doesn't have to be clean…" She stared at him, uncomprehending. "You've seen my house," he explained further.

She didn't comply, she simply finished wiping the table. "You're right," she sighed, straightening. Rita looked around, and Bryan copied. Everything was in perfect order, besides the offensive dust. And yet, she began that nervous tour of the house again. All but one room.

"You're right," she called to him. "I've missed so much school…I'm going to have to catch up. I'll have to study—"

She stopped short when she spied Bryan at the doorway of her library. Her arms, full of textbooks, became paralyzed. He simply shook his head.

"Rumor has it…because of your loss…" 

The look in her eyes startled him. Intense, waiting, a little panicked. _All right_, he thought, reading it correctly. _I won't say I'm sorry._

"Any way, minimal make up work. Williams…he likes you, and everything…" he trailed off when Rita lowered the books back onto her desk. He tried to joke, "The school system in Anomina is very corrupt." Bryan suddenly wished he hadn't said anything at all; she looked so lost now. Verity gazed blankly around the room, and something unnamed flickered in her eyes. He barely had time to move out of the way as she rushed past him. 

"Goodness," she exclaimed loudly. Being so tall, it was odd that her frame looked small and helpless in the shadowy hall way. "What am I going to do about this house? I mean, I don't have a job or anything. Maybe I should—"

"Bought and paid for…the Daybreakers pulled some strings," Bryan explained uneasily. Her already tired body just became even more exhausted. Her green eyes searched all around, and found only shadows and blankness. There was nothing to see; she closed her eyes. 

Bryan watched silently when she opened them, resolve shining as she stepped into the room she avoided. 

It looked almost like a prison.

He followed noiselessly, and said nothing as her hands delicately ran over the plain furniture. All sharp corners covered with rubber. No words came to mind when she absently drew the curtains in reverance. 

Nobody could ever get hurt in this room. 

Both had nothing to say as she lightly fingered the impressions in the pillows, and wordlessly folded the sheets. 

It was a plain white room. Nothing more. There was less to see than the hall way, just beyond the door. All it took was one step, and they could leave the dismal, empty place. But Bryan knew Rita saw things in here he would never be able to see.

"So every thing's taken care of." Her voice was barely audible. Those slender fingers, once so capable, were shaking now. Smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in the bed. Caressing the hair out of a dead sister's eyes. Fluffing up unused pillows. Holding a dead mother's hand.

"Everything's taken care of," she repeated, her voice a pitiful thread in the cool silence. They were gone, sister and mother, ball and chain. Verity's knees refused to cooperate for a moment, and she slowly sank to sit on the bed. Rita stared at the blank wall in front of her. "Everything's taken care of. There's nothing to worry about."

The darkness had engulfed both of them by now; he could see nothing remarkable, but the human looked down gently at the pillow. A voice so childlike, it couldn't have been the Old Soul's. "Is it the time to cry yet?" 

Looking back, he wanted to hold her. Bryan would have given everything to walk up and take her in his arms. Who wouldn't? Something…perhaps the invisible images, ripping the sobs out of her. Something was pulling tears from her eyes. He achingly wanted to comfort, to lie and say everything was going to be all right. She slowly laid herself down, arms outstretched, holding an unseen loved one. Rita's tearful whimpers were quietly desperate. Watery, strangled cries, the vale of tears not only flooding the bed, but Bryan's mind. 

He heard it, and wanted to stop it. He only took one step, just _one_ step towards the bed. And her head shot up, and shook a firm no. No, don't come to me now. No, I won't accept it. Those glistening emeralds, just too damn proud. He wanted to comfort and shake her. Knock some sense into her, tell her there were times when pride didn't matter. 

The second step earned him a murderous gaze. Get out now.

Besides that, she continued to cry, till the ungodly hours of morning. And through it all, Bryan sat in the living room, waiting for it to end.

~*~*~*~

****

They could not guess at midnight lone

How she would weep the time of away" 

Emily Bronte 

All right, so it's not totally action packed, next chapter will make up for it. At least this one's longer, though. I'd love to hear what y'all think!


	10. Glittering blood

****

Now I know these general notes are fairly annoying, but this is seriously need. Read and burn this in your mind. Seriously. Say to yourself, "Self, I need to read and burn the following words in my mind." Got it? Good. All right:

DO NOT HATE ADELAIDE E AFTER THIS CHAPTER. CONTINUE TO REVIEW EVEN IF CHAPTER TEN IS MINORLY UNSATISFACTORY.

All right, that's it. Happy reading!

Also, if you do review, try and try not to write spoiling reviews. Some read reviews before the chapter and eh—the whole thing's ruined. That's it!

****

Alocin: Just curious, does your name mean anything? I just thought it was really interesting. Any who, reviews like yours will just bloat my ego, but what the hey—keep them coming! And I appreciate any one who appreciates the quotes. I hope this was soon enough.

Aife Bisclaveret: Hiya! That whole no boring chapters comment was very generous of you! I'm glad you noticed the contrast between Rita and Maria. Because I was so attached to Maria, it was hard to create a character to be the polar opposite. And aren't the Snows just precious! And trust me, a family like that…gets _very_ annoying after a while.

More power to ya for disliking Bryan. Don't like him very much myself either, but he is a convenient means to an end. And, of course, Jared… If I inserted a pro and cons thing for him, I would have had to add a whole new chapter. Precious boy has that many pros. And cons? Probably two. Rita would never full own him, for that leather couch holds a special place in his heart. Secondly, the potty mouth. But I think that's it! Besides that totally disheartening phone call wiped that option away, didn't it?

I was very selfish about Ash. I like to have any reason for him to pop up. He's, in my opinion, one of the best male L.J. Smith character. Then again, as you very well know, I got my bad boy attraction. And about things looking set for a good part…um…yeah…don't hold your breath.

Neona-deniker: Let's just be polite about it and say, very delicately…Chapter 8 sucked! A filler chapter, I'm very well aware, but then again, so was chapter 9. Lord love a duck, Neona-deniker, that living room thing wasn't supposed to make you love Bryan more! Eh, maybe this chapter will change your mind. And one must always remember that, to survive living with Maria, Valdis must be just as deceitful. So, basically, yeah he'll get her there. And property…mystery's a wonderful thing, ain't it? But, please, oh please, don't hate me for this chapter!

Maria24: Hey, great name! Not that I'm partial or anything…ahem. Interesting, unique, and good job-ness is all I've aimed for with this fic, so yay for me! I feel just awful though, because you wrote such a sweet review but I can't help you out! Through some freak accident, mix-up thingy, all but two of my Night World books have been donated to charity. Why poor people would want to read about blood sucking mean people, I don't know. Any way, the ones I have are the earlier ones, so they don't list all books. Sorry! But nine sounds like a good number…

Lilith: Relieved to hear from you again! But now I'm a bit timid because you loved last chapter, but this chapter is shorter and er…bad. Seriously. Brace yourself, dear.

Martha: Hey, thanks so much for reviewing. I don't know how boys talk on the phone with each other, so hopefully that's accurate. The thing is…oh well, I'll just let you find out for yourself. This is not as long, but damn it's got alotta action.

Vague Verity

Chapter 10

****

"What woman, however old,

~*~*~*~

Anomina

She was here. Back in the stupid little town. There was a sense of relief when he realized it, immeasurable as it was unreasonable. It didn't matter whether she was here or in Antarctica; she would always hate him.

Yet that tingly feeling in his hands refused to fade on his way to Chemistry. He had always been able to ignore it before, when the unnerving prickles crept up just as something important was happening. Whether it was because of Rita, he wasn't sure. He would see once he reached class.

"Mr. Amaro, how good of you to join us." The caustic greeting meant more than his tardiness for that morning; five days after Rita left, Adrian stopped attending himself. It just seemed pointless, or at least moreso than before. 

As he closed the distance between himself and the assigned seat, he tried to casually observe her. The worry lines were emphasized by her look of concentration as she filled out a worksheet. Looking from his make up packet to the one sitting on Tana's desk, Adrian noticed the considerable difference in size; his was at least three times as thick. Huh. 

For the rest of the class, he covertly studied her. The harsh scrutiny of the wolf and vampire was as subtle as a neon, flashing sign. The best opportunities came when Tana—no, Verity was forced to pass things back to him.

He was looking for whatever her boyfriend was talking about, that night in the woods. He supposedly ruined something. But looking at the woman before him, Adrian saw nothing broken. Comparatively, this one was stronger now. Wiser, eyes wide open. Where Tana had turned away from the world, this one faced it head on, and with a brave face at that. He hadn't broken anything, nothing was lost. At least that's what Adrian told himself. 

During health class, she checked out early. Many of the girls did. The one fact that disturbed him was that she left with Smith. But as much as it disturbed him, it also brought relief. Verity wouldn't be out primping for the Soiree if Bryan Smith was with her. Perhaps they planned something else. Adrian didn't want to think about it; he was just happy she wouldn't be there tonight.

~*~*~*~ 

"So…you're my date, right?" Rik wanted to smack himself as soon as the words left his mouth. There was something called subtlety, but he felt he was born missing that gene.

Fayth looked over her shoulder and shrugged. "Sure, but it's not like we'll really be attending. We have a more important job, you know—"

"I get it," Rik cut in, standing awkwardly behind her. She was wearing a simple pink dress; she had had it for years, and wore it to every special occasion, be it wedding or funeral. He thought it funny that the most feminine color was to be worn by the strongest, non-fluffy girl he had ever met. 

"You don't look so bad yourself," she said, with a teasing smile, when she noticed his stare. "Even if that suit is as old as this dress."

He stretched uncomfortably when her eyes ran over his form. "I still don't understand why a man would need so many layers of clothes… It's stupid. The more important the party, the more uncomfortable you gotta be?"

Fayth laughed and finished her curls. "Don't worry," she reassured him, straightening his tie, "I think you've just grown. But it's okay, we'll be retro-cool."

The two left the room and joined the others in the living room. Winnie sat impatiently, her gaze alternating between her nails and the front door. Rashel and Quinn were bent over all possible exits and entrances of the Anomina High gym. He really didn't understand the point, though. If they were going to try to keep anybody who could be a dragon out, nobody would ever get inside.

Rashel spied Fayth and nudged Quinn. The vampire looked up and then faced the couple fully.

"Are we all ready then?"  


"No," Winnie snapped. "Where the hell is your best friend?" she asked Rik.

He shrugged. "What does it matter?"

Winnie grit her teeth. "I'm positioned in the upper left entrance, the third most used. Should I come across any hostility, I need some stupid brute force to distract it while I build up my power. Things work in a certain way, Rik!"

The front door opened the same time Rik opened his mouth. Jared looked at all of them and smiled when his eyes rested on Quinn.

"Hello Sergeant Peppers!" he laughed and saluted sharply.

Rashel grabbed her soul mate before he could pounce on the wolf. "It's military cut," she explained evenly. Her eyes ran coldly over his attire. "Is that what you're wearing to the Soiree?"

Jared's smile became puzzled, and he still addressed Quinn. "I'm not going to the Soiree, Colonel Sanders."

Winnie looked to Fayth, who looked to Rashel, who looked to Quinn. The leader stared at all three women until remembrance hit. "Oh," he sighed and turned to Jared. "Jared Luna, your presence is cordially requested tonight to escort Winnie—"

The other words were stuck in his throat when Rashel punched his arm. "John! I ask you to do one thing, _one_ thing! Ask him, John, hurry up and do it, I said. And what did you say? I will, Rashel, just hold on. I'm talking to my retarded friend in Arizona!"

"Now, now, I don't recall saying 'retarded.'…"

"You guys?" The pair turned to Fayth, who was trying to ignore the laughing Rik. "It's a moot point any way."

"Why?" Rashel asked angrily. "Winnie still needs a partner."

Fayth shrugged helplessly and pointed beyond them. "Because Jared just sneaked out the window." And, sure enough, one of the windows in the living room had been open, the freezing wind causing the girls to shudder.

~*~*~*~

"I really don't want to go, Bryan," Verity explained as she watched Bryan break yet another window. "And you really should make an extra pair of keys."

"I will," he assured her when he opened the door, "as soon as I find the original."

He persuaded her to come to his bed room. Through the hall way and up the stairs, she pleaded in vain. The Soiree was unimportant. They could always go next year. It was probably too crowded. She didn't even like dancing.

Bryan stopped so suddenly that she ran into him. His eyes were like warm, dying embers. "Please don't lie like that," he requested quietly, obviously hurt. Guilt assailed her as soon as he looked down at their entwined hands to avoid her face. Before she could apologize, he opened his bed room door.

Bryan stepped further into the room, waiting for her opinion. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his shirt. His hopeful smile wavered when she didn't say anything. 

"I didn't know the size exactly," he explained nervously. Bryan picked up the hanger and brought it closer for inspection. "But it seemed long enough…" Her hand reached out, but she drew back her fingers abruptly. "You don't like it."

Rita stared at it for what seemed like eternity. "No," she said softly, never pulling her eyes away from his gift, "it's perfect." Bryan was confused into silence for a few minutes, and then asked:

"What's the problem, Verity?"

She smiled a smile he knew well. That old soul smile, a cross between knowing and apologetic. Basically stated that he was too young to understand.

But then it was replaced with a curve that was normal. Her flash of perfect teeth showed some real, teenage excitement. "It's perfect," she repeatedly excitedly. "How did you know I wanted white?" He shrugged, and handed her the dress.

"It seemed to be the appropriate color," he answered with a grin as he grabbed his tux. He didn't know why he was grinning like an idiot, but her smile had that effect on him. She laughed softly as he left her to change.

~*~*~*~

There were maybe twenty or so already there when the Daybreak team arrived. One of the mingling happened to be Adrian Amaro. 

"God dammit, how the hell did he beat us here?" Quinn swore angrily and rushed into the streamer filled gym. The others swiftly followed him, almost bumping into one of the door people. Rik, seeing as he wasn't officially part of the group, took the time to apologize.

"Sorry about that," he told the pale, curvy girl sausaged into an electric blue gown. "We…just heard the punch was super this year." The human giggled. "You should try it before they run out," he grinned and turned to assume position. 

"Wait," she called out, and hurriedly waddled up to him. "You're Rita's friend, aren't you?"

Rik was vaguely alarmed. Had he met this one before? "Yeah…"

"I'm Ophelia. Here, you forgot your card. We promised the sponsors to hand these out once they, like, doubled our funds. It was Rita's idea," she explained, and then waddled away to hand out more.

Rik saw the card was a coupon to the local Doughnut Hut. On the back, written in calligraphy, it said: 

****

Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to Its delight,

Joys in another's lose of ease,

And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite. ~ William Blake

Please enjoy the 332nd Anniversary of Anomina.

So they were trying for the anti pregnancy message. Rik smiled as he joined Fayth at one of the entrances. Fat chance; the Anomina Inn was booming with business tonight. Any fleeting love message would be lost on the drunk, horny idiots.

"What are you smiling about?" Fayth asked, nodding coolly to their temporary allies. 

He almost spoke the truth, but decided against it. Fayth wasn't one of the drunk, horny idiots, and he wouldn't want her head filled with anti-love poetry. Instead, he said, "I was just trying to imagine Jared in a tie."

~*~*~*~

Jared waited in the back yard until the team left. After that, he took a walk around the neighborhood, not caring if the rest of Anomina thought he was crazy for being shirtless. He didn't mind missing the Soiree; like he told Rita, he had plenty ahead of him. Parking was hell, any way.

Of course Rita would be there. Of course she would, she planned the whole thing. And Anomina would welcome their long lost president once they saw what a great job she did. He didn't really see the decorations at school, but he knew Verity wouldn't do anything less than brilliant.

Except date that prick. 

The werewolf was never one for self pity. He decided a good long nap would cheer him up, and briskly jogged back home. The five story boarding house looked dark and remote. Looking up at the second floor, Jared realized he didn't have his keys. He had lost them weeks ago, in the woods at Buffington's party. And, damn them, his friends had shut and locked the windows.

He scratched his head, looking for any other way to get in. Breaking a window wasn't an option, he still owed money to Quinn. Desperate and longing for his leather couch, he walked around back.

Thank…some supreme being. One con about being an atheist; he had no clue as who to thank when something good happened. Sometimes God, or Jesus, an influence of listening to so many humans for years. The landlord still hadn't repaired that hole in the basement wall. Shifting to wolf form, he squeezed through the narrow opening, and then found the stair case leading upstairs. He just hoped that new tenant below them wasn't home…

It looked like he wasn't going to get arrested for breaking and entering tonight. The apartment was identical to his own, except messier. Curious, he meandered a bit before returning home. Whoever lived down here was a freak.

There were all sorts of jars full of nasty, inedible things. Vials and bowls of unidentifiable ingredients were strewn about, leaving a stale smell in the air. Maybe it was an experimenting chef.

Come to think of it, he never saw his downstairs neighbor. Jared stopped in his tracks when he recognized a scent. Almost like activated Dragon's Blood, except stronger—and lighter some how. If that was possible. 

That _was_ impossible. Or at least that's what he told himself as he frantically searched the apartment. He didn't care about leaving a mess; he had a good feeling whoever had this new potion wasn't going to stick around. The werewolf found a few fire arms, tri-colored bullets, but those didn't matter. There was nothing stronger than Dragon's Blood. What they sold in witch stores was usually diluted; they got weaker. Nobody could have _stronger_ Dragon's Blood. It was _impossible_.

In his clumsy search, Jared didn't see a skull near his foot. He took one step, placing one foot on it. The fall wasn't so bad as a fall could be on a hardwood floor; he landed on a pile of hard, thick papers. The most he got was a few paper cuts from the short edges.

He ran out of the apartment in seconds.

~*~*~*~

"Oh would you look at that?" Rashel pointed out. "That's awful."

Quinn turned and saw Rita's friend being bullied. One of the basket ball jocks held the cards far above the human girl's head. He was about to move to stop it, for Rashel had always handled herself, when the jock threw it over her head, sending the welcome cards all over the snack table. Verity's friend and the other door attendants were frantic to retrieve them all.

"They won't stop being jerks even at a formal event," Rashel observed, thoroughly disgusted. "I don't see how Rita manages them."

"She did run away after all…speak of the devil." Rashel turned and followed her date's gaze. Student body president and escort were announced, and won the prize of being the latest to the party.

"How the hell is she keeping it on?" she wondered aloud.

"That silky toga, or that fake smile?" Quinn returned, distractedly moving his eyes to Amaro. Hopefully, the planner had seen his soul mate come.

Verity greeted her students politely, and pointedly turned away from anybody with the words, "I'm sorry" pouring from their mouths. She and Bryan visited the cliques formed around the dance floor. The popular simply _had_ to tell them they were the cutest couple. The less fortunate were happy to say hello to the president that had done so much to them, except the vegetarian club. Who knew one could hold such a long grudge over leather pants?  


She even kept her composure as they approached the group of Bryan's kinds. Trepidation was inevitable, despite the fact that he told them they were neutral. They regarded her with a surprising amount of respect, and even smiled during the polite conversation. 

"Why do I feel like I'm on parade?" Bryan asked amusedly as they nodded to this group and that couple. Verity turned and widened her brittle smile at him. 

"Don't be silly. We're just strengthening ties, after all. If I decide to stay for my senior year, I want to stay president." The words stopped when she spied two blue eyes staring intently among the glamorous throngs. "Bryan," she started nervously, "let's go dance."

Bryan surveyed his partner questioningly as he led her to the dance floor. That public smile was still there, but her eyes were distracted, straying from here to there before turning away sharply with a gasp. He tried to discern was perturbed her, but saw nothing in the crowd of seniors except other couples. Perhaps she was scandalized by the proximity of the dancers. The theory was kicked out of his mind when he drew her into his arms, and she shyly moved closer into his arms to rest her head on his shoulder. Not even light could have passed between their two bodies. If he hadn't sensed her bashfulness, Bryan was sure he would have froze up in fear. Which was plain shameful. He had held plenty of girls; this one shouldn't turn him into an amateur.

While Bryan inwardly scolded himself on his timidity, Rita cursed the small number of this year's senior class. If less had failed into her grade, perhaps this gym would be more crowded. More couples slow dancing. Less chance of seeing somebody. Less chance of being stared at with angry, ocean blue eyes.

And he was dancing with Ophelia, of all people. Rita knew it was wrong to think of others when dancing with a very attached date, but her soul mate's rage was nearly palpable. She wasn't sure whether he chose Ophelia as a partner out of the kindness of his heart, or a silent threat to herself. Going to up to her and pulling her away wasn't very likely; Miss Brown was in seventh heaven. 

Verity could only watch, helpless as she swayed in Bryan's sturdy arms, as her other half came closer and closer to the center of the floor. Those eyes of unfathomable depth burning into her own. Her arms tightened reflexively around Bryan. Sheer will power allowed her to turn her head, so that she could only see Bryan's neck. She felt his heart quicken at the action. Her own heartbeat probably raced faster than his. Only human she may be, but she'd have to be in a coma not to feel the soul mate link strengthen with each step Adrian took. Rita's mind began to consider the possibility of heart doctors when hers skipped a few beats; Amaro and Ophelia stood directly behind Bryan.

The music, the chatter, Bryan's heart beat, the artificial moonlight…everything faded away. The only things that existed were Adrian's indigo eyes, both sad and angry. Rita instinctively knew that any other girl would have fallen under his spell with just one glance, and that she never would. They were on the same level, their eyes riveted to each others with equal intensity and regret. It wasn't right, he seemed to argue with no vocal words. 

And she knew what he meant. It didn't feel right, here in Bryan's arms. Being held by any other man but your soul mate just felt _odd_. Almost, but not enough. Her face became defiant. It wasn't her fault Adrian couldn't hold her. He lost that privilege on his own. 

Faintly, she heard her class mates murmur some surprise. Silver confetti fell from the heavens….well, the ceiling. Verity smiled; she knew they'd like it. Simple, plastic, snowflakes creating an almost perfect night. Adrian's eyes flickered up and then back to her. A little rueful smile rested on his lips. He knew what he lost. 

It came time to announce Mr. and Mrs. Anomina. Verity pulled away from Bryan to join Mr. Williams on the stage. On the way, she noticed Ophelia regarded her with an annoyed look. She didn't blame her; after all, she had disappeared from school and dumped the majority of student council responsibility on her. And then the poor girl's dream partner goes and stares at another girl. Poor Ophelia.

She resolved to apologize to her friend as she called Marjorie and Jason to the stage. Even more confetti graced the celebration. The spotlight dance was off to a rocky start when the Marjorie momentarily stumbled. The spiteful look on Ophelia's face caught Rita off guard, and it was hard to tell whether she had tripped Marjorie on purpose. Then she dismissed the thought entirely; so Ophelia was a bit irritated with the entire evening, there was no reason to suspect her of malice.

All her movements were graceful. Even as she turned her head from left to right, there was some admirable elegance in it. Adrian leaned against the bleachers, watching her look for the mosquito. White was her color, he conceded to that. That thing, that glorified _scarf_ she wore…showed too much skin, and more curves that he was comfortable with. It wasn't tight, nor strappy like that barbaric concoction at the Christmas party. It sort of hung from her shoulders, and rested on, instead of clung to, her skin. He hated the fact that these boys obviously appreciated her body just as much as he hated the fact that _he_ appreciated it, too. 

On the other side of the dance floor, he caught sight of his associates pulling Bryan away from the floor. Verity's date looked concerned, then bewildered as they spoke to him quietly. Adrian smiled, disappointed, as Bryan nodded and followed the dragon's partners. There was a possibility they lied to him to get him away, but he wouldn't think about that now. He had told his team mates that they could save whoever they wanted to. There were no Night World loyalists under the spell of snow, and very few neutrals. Now, he had to go and rescue his soul mate, who was wandering around the edge of the dance floor. Idly, he wondered if one tug in the right spot would make the dress fall away completely. Amaro smiled. For _that_ she would certainly kill him.

By the jostle of the crowd before her, Rita knew alcohol was not far ahead. To her left was a wall of, what some people called, "freaks." And they, as always, did not look happy at this school function. The only option left was to turn and walk through the pairs lost in their private, romantic world. They probably wouldn't notice her weaving in and out, searching for a certain vampire.

She had neatly managed avoiding that wandering spotlight, until a familiar hand rested on her waist and held her in a very tender embrace. Bryan had been short enough for her to rest her head on his shoulder, but now she couldn't even reach Adrian's. For a few seconds, she held him with equal affection, arms winding around his neck as his own slid to and around her waist. The orb of light rested on them for more than necessary, making Rita note to demote whatever junior was in charge of that one.

Verity couldn't help it; the rightness of the touch overwhelmed her. She felt as if she had just returned home after years of restlessness and wandering. Her head on his chest, his chin nestled in her curls. This was completion. This was right.

Reality set in. Her arms stiffened, and she pulled away. His grip tightened, keeping their torsos together until she drew her head back and frowned at him.

If she had done that to discourage him, she was sadly mistaken. Adrian didn't take in the tenacity in her eyes. Instead, he burned in his mind her lips, slightly parted and cupid bowed. Her skin, glowing in this shimmering darkness. Her hair, the sheen of those dark twists and curls. Glitter had dusted everything on her, everything beautiful. Snow flakes in her hair, twinkling in her eyelashes. Everybody thought she was plain, bordering on unattractive with her soberness; they were wrong. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in and breathed her in. 

Verity watched him, with eyes growing saucer wide, as he leaned forward. Instantly she drew back, angry at the temerity of the man. Thank goodness he only closed his eyes and breathed in, as if sampling something ambrosial. He remembered himself and finally gazed at her, but did not reassume his original distance. Adrian simply continued to watch her, the ocean in his eyes still churning with regret and something new—wonder, maybe, or surprise. Her ire faded.

"You're scarred," he murmured as his hand ran along the vase-caused line on her arm. Verity didn't look down; instead she continued to watch his expression. No disappointment, as she expected. Just bewildered realization.

"Yes," she answered softly. "For some time now. For a long time now."

And he nodded, registering the enormity of her light reply.

"These are my class mates," she explained gently, knowing his mind was vulnerable. He nodded. "These are my neighbors."

His eyes narrowed. Rita noticed, stupidly, that he was far more handsome when angered. "I know," he responded, voice clipped and hard.

She was losing him; those impenetrable walls were up again. On her tip toes, she tightened her hold on his neck, so that she could whisper in his ear. "Please, Adrian. Please don't kill them."

He said nothing, he did nothing. Except keep the same position, his cheek tangent to her own. She felt fingers dance up and down her bare back, and could tell he was in deep contemplation. "Please, Adrian. Don't…"

"They're waiting for my signal," he interrupted. He sounded so final, and absolute. Sensing a weary argument, Rita rested her head on his chest again. His breath hitched at that.

"Adrian," she pleaded shakily, "these are my friends."

"No, they're not Rita. They're not. Please don't lie like that." She glanced up once he said those last words. But he was not watching her; his eyes traveled to the walls of the gym. Rita, by some unknown instinct, perhaps his, knew that the Night Worlders were there, watching him dance with his human soul mate.

"They're not," she admitted, still in a hushed voice. "But they're people, Adrian. They're daughters, and sons. They're sisters, and brothers—" That hand on her waist was suddenly painful.

"What would you do to stop them from dying?" Rita's head jerked up, startled. Goodness gracious, he was completely serious. Her teeth clenched, and she tried to break away from him altogether. "What would you do?"

Just when he thought she reached the limit of loveliness, she became angry. Defiantly, she raised her chin, the sharp green tearing into him. "Ask you nicely," she ground out.

"And?"

"Say please," she added acidly. To her irritation, he saw that he was pleased. For goodness sake, she hadn't given those answers to please him. Verity hated to see that complacent curve on her soul mate's lips, for it was so similar to the old days. Eager to wipe that grin off, she said viciously:

"And maybe fuck you once or twice just to get a 'Hell yes' out of you." His stare became basilisk, and he was ready to lecture her when he thought better of it. Her volcanic thoughts warned him to release her. As soon as he did, things got interesting.

~*~*~*~

Bored out of his mind, Bryan wandered out the main double doors. He knew they, the Night Worlders, despised him. But, considering his father's position, he had to be tolerated. And kept safe.

The humans of this town were fairly amusing, but not worth rescuing. After whatever Rita's soul mate had planned, Bryan was sure the population would bounce back after a year or two. Just as long as his date was safe, Smith really didn't give a damn.

He contemplated bumming a cigarette from one of the students, but decided against it. Rita disliked smoking, although she never vocally said so. Funny how tolerant she was of certain things.

The street lamps only gave so much light, yet Bryan could discern the faintest silhouette rushing towards him. No, not him. The main doors. Some half naked idiot who thought he would be let in—

"Luna?" he called out. The figure did not slow down, but the vampire thought he distinctly heard an obscenity being muttered. 

Jared had been only a few feet from the door, but Bryan, when motivated, was always fast enough. He blocked the glowing entrance in seconds.

A bare, muscled arm gave his shoulder a rough shove. "Move it, Smith. This is important."

Bryan smirked slightly, and crossed his arms. He had never really thought about Rita's friends as threats before. Then again, he hadn't really thought of anybody but Rita before. "Do you really think I'd let you in just so you could come and steal my date?"

Jared fidgeted, snarling violently as he tried to pass through. "Damn it, Smith!"

Bryan lost the smile and pushed him away. "Stay away from her." Idiots always had the best of intentions, of that Bryan was very well aware. But this mutt, no matter how noble, was not going to ruin Verity's night.

"This isn't just her!" the werewolf yelled back. The punch came without warning, sending Bryan back a few steps. Luna determinedly tried to speed past him, but not before Bryan's leg shot out, snapping his knee cap. For a few crucial seconds, the werewolf stumbled, the bone shattering and mending painfully. Momentarily, retaliation filled his mind and Jared swung back, landing his fist squarely on Bryan's jaw. As the vampire reeled, Jared scrambled into the gymnasium. 

~*~*~*~

Adrian shook his head at the Night Worlders.

The double doors burst open. Somebody flicked on the lights. The music was cut short. Only the glitter fell steadily. 

"Verity!" His dance partner searched the crowd. The familiar voice brought simultaneous waves of pleasure and apprehension in Verity. 

"Jared?" Her eyes darted this way and that, and then turned to Adrian, as if he were responsible for it.

Quinn and Rashel jumped from their relaxed positions. Rashel turned to her soul mate, a question ready on her lips. Before she could ask, he nodded. "Of course I put people on the front doors, what do you take me for?" Across the gym, Rashel signaled Fayth and Rik. Fayth's shrug showed she had no idea what was going on, either. Quinn mentally asked Winnie what the hell Jared was doing here. Winnie's reply was a curt "No clue." 

The vampire soon followed, and heard his date's name being called. Bryan turned to his so-called friends; they had told him they had pulled Verity to the girls restroom. Within seconds, he was running into the crowds, too, searching for the same person.

"Verity!"

It was ridiculous how much his voice affected her. Simply the sound of her name, and her hands tingled uncontrollably. Him calling her evoked more joy than Bryan's journey to New York. But she wouldn't think of the guilt of that. No, not now. The Jared induced guilt would come later.

"Jared," she called out, and saw the werewolf break through the perplexed couples. "Jared," she scolded severely when he approached, "this is a formal event. Where on earth is your tie? Or your _shirt_, for that matter…"  


But the werewolf simply shook his head tiredly. An urgent message struggled to break free, but unfortunate exhausted pants kept interrupting. "Verity…you have to—"

The next part wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Not for the most perfect boy.

It was then that the shot came—the funniest sound, not the loud bangs from the movies. Almost like a single, swift shaft of wind—and then the next—and the next…

Verity saw everything happening very rapidly, and later could only remember the half seconds and blurred images that mattered. But only one person filled her mind. One second Jared was before her…

A bloody opening on his heart.

Jorge had that wound. And now Jared had it, too.

Rita's eyes wavered in split seconds, seeing the past and the present—

Jorge's kind brown eyes, widening, mouth opening in pain.

Jared's lip muttering soundlessly, pupils dilating in anguish.

Rita reached for him, just as Gitana reached for him… and then he was gone.

Her class mates either ran or hit the ground. Adrian grabbed her arms and attempted to drag her from the floor, but fell himself as a bullet tore through his shoulder. 

"Jared!" she called out frantically, just as she had been moments before. Panicked, she realized he was nowhere in sight. Verity, still trapped in Adrian's arms, stumbled on top of him. She rolled out of his grip, but kept low to the ground. 

"_Jared!_"

She saw the voiceless screams as the girl next to her was shot through the leg, and heard some boy choking on the falling glitter. Rita craned her neck to find Walter, belly up because turning face down is not an option when there's a bullet in your stomach.

After some crawling, and the realization that the fire had ceased, she found Jared directly before her. Rita slipped in the pool of blood trying to get to him.

"No," she breathed, grasping at his slippery body. "No, Jared, don't—"

His eyes were open, staring at nothing until Rita hovered over him. "Jared, please, wake up—"

He wasn't cooperating. The arms were lead heavy, and his head lolled back when she tried to cradle his shoulders. No carrying wouldn't work, she should have known that. What a stupid, stupid idea. Her mind was slow one minute, then chastising the next.

"Jared, come on, get up—" She couldn't drag him, he was too heavy for that. "Help," she finally called out. Panicked, she wiped the unbidden tears from her eyes. Verity knew she had to help him somehow, but couldn't think of anything herself. She couldn't see who was coming with tears in her eyes. "Help, somebody…"

But every body else was helping the others. The ones who were still breathing, her mind rationalized. But she ignored the fact, and jiggled the still boy in her arms. "Jared, Jared, please don't—"  


She hugged him, and squeezed the tears away. They hugged only once before, and that was when she saved him. She couldn't save him this time. Somebody placed a hand on her shoulder, somebody was gently unlocking her arms. Jared slid off her lap, his head still turned towards her. Rita reached out and touched his cheek briefly, then frowned at the red marks she left.

Jared was dead. Trying to save her. Just like…

"You weren't supposed to die again," she whispered, feeling betrayed. "You weren't supposed to leave."

Stupid, unimportant fools. Rita stared at one Daybreaker and then the next. Stupid, unimportant apologies. Empty comforting words. She rose from the bloody floor, and quietly slipped out of her now crimson shoes on the way out. Mechanically, she avoided the puddles of glittering blood.

Bryan would be waiting by the car. Barefoot, the rocks bit into her feet. She was glad for that, because it was the only indication that she had feelings left. There were lines and lines of police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks. 

One officer even tried to stop her for question, but withdrew when he saw the empty look in Verity's eyes. There would be no information drawn out from a girl in shock. Bryan wasn't by the Land Cruiser. She stood there, not understanding what was wrong, not even wondering what she should do next. If anybody asked her later on how long she stood there, staring at the spot where Bryan should have been, she would have no answer for them. 

She was being hugged. Bryan was asking her if she was all right. For some reason, it didn't register, nothing did. Verity remained silent. Bryan looked around, weighing the situation.

"We won't be able to leave for a while," he told her. "They're checking the cars for fire arms, and the traffic must be impossible—"

"I don't want to stay here," she thought aloud. Not so much an objection, but a fact. It would be unbearable to see Jared being wheeled out. Bryan studied her and then nodded. It didn't make sense for him to ask her to hold on. And it didn't make sense for it to get so windy. But whether the course of events made sense or not, she was happy to find herself in front of Bryan's mansion. He carried her into the house, and up the stairs.

Bryan perched her on the marble bathroom counter, hoping she wasn't too cold. The bathroom was bare, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, to wet it under the hot running water and wipe her face clean. He was relieved to see that her eyes were focused on him, and on his actions. For a while, he was worried she had been scared to dumbness.

"Did you know it was going to happen?"

The blood was gone from her face, but the glitter was impossible to wipe off. His hand moved on to her neck. "No."

"And if you did, would you have stopped it?"

He rinsed the cloth clean, and then began to wipe the dried blood from her arms. She repeated the question, but this time her voice broke.

"If you asked me to," was his reply. He expected some relief from his answer, but instead heard a long pent up sigh. Bryan looked up to see tears falling from her bent head. She turned away, to let her hair act as a curtain, and block his view. Her hand shot out and kept him at bay, but her fingers clutched tightly to the lapels of his coat. It appeared that she was trying to stop it, holding her breath and biting her lip every once in a while. 

But it wouldn't do, and after a few long moments of trying, her hand dropped. Bryan inched closer, and warily wrapped his arms around her. Thankfully, she leaned into him.

Bryan knew for a cold hard fact that this was the wrong time to do it. She was vulnerable, bewildered, and trusted him completely. To read her mind would have been very, very, _very_ bad.

Just one little peek. _ It's not fair. Jared's not an old soul…they're not the same…he shouldn't have died for me…_

Everything bad happens in Anomina.

She was going to leave again. She regretted coming back, and she was going to leave. He knew it, he could see where that thought would lead. The only person who could have kept her here had died just minutes before. Verity would leave the town and then him. Maybe for good.

And he couldn't bear it. He simply couldn't. 

"I can take you to Paris." He hardly knew what he said aloud until Rita lifted her head and stared at him with surprise. "Or Lyons, or Nice." Bryan's words became rapid and forceful. "I can take you to see those cave man drawings that we learned about. Rita, you could see Rome, or Greece. Or London and Bath. I'll take you any where you want."

"Bryan," she began uncertainly.

"There's this awesome place in Tahiti. I've seen the most beautiful Tabu beaches…"

"Bryan—"

"And a great little restaurant in Morocco. You'll love the katbane chicken. Or maybe Maui. The dawn in Maui is incredible…"

"_Bryan_—"

"Or we can go some place cold if you want. I remember you loved playing in the snow. I'll take you to Canada, or Switzerland. See the silver swan in Russia. Austria, Japan—"

"Bryan, we couldn't possibly—"

"And I'll stay with you. I'll take you everywhere, and I'll do anything to make you happy. Just come with me, Verity please. I'll make you happy."

He closed his eyes and felt her refusal in her caress on his cheek.   


"We're just children." The three words were sad and hushed. He grabbed her hand, and kissed it, holding it tighter when she tried to pull away.

"Then we'll grow old together." He braced himself. "Will you grow old with me?"

Verity became deathly still, instantly understanding what the question meant.

~*~*~*~

****

has not the bridal favours and raiment stowed away, and packed in lavender, in the inmost cupboards of her heart?" 

William Thackery

Before you hate me, don't you think it was hard for me too?


	11. False Paradise

Yes, well, I knew I wouldn't get any glowing reviews for the last chapter. But I swear, in this chapter, no sad parts. Well, at least in my opinion.

Amy: Jeez, I hope I didn't make you hyperventilate! That "best story" comment is a bit premature, but thanks any way! Yup, a cliff hanger, and a mean one at that. And, don't worry, I'll write a lot more. :0)

Lilith: Come on, Lilith, would you leave an awful little town if Mr. Perfect was there? No, right? And, for plot's sake, Verity needs to leave. I'm sorry! It was so difficult to write, you have no idea! :0) If you like Adrian, then I guess you'll like this one!

Leian: Thanks for the "wow"s! I hope I make it up to you. Some people will find this chapter as a balance for last, but others…er, right. And I'm sorry for not updating sooner, and once again the scapegoat is school. 

My goodness you're original. You maybe the only person who relates with Bryan and Adrian, but not Kyros. Raised my eyebrows on that one! Thanx for the name, I wish I could have the good a memory. It's okay I like long reviews. And I'll admit I was sorta misleading about the Rik thing. Sorry about that! And thanks for the review!

Martha: Seriously girl, sometimes your reviews just scare me! :0) And, as I said before, we need to leave, and we can't leave if we have Mr. Perfect still here. Get it? So you're right about a means to an end. Thanks for the consideration. 

Person with no name: Oh dear, everybody really liked Jared. I dunno, I'd take backyard corpse and heartlessness into account, but I'll guarantee you this: Rita will not break Bryan's heart. Whether you'll like what happens…hmm. And, before you condemn Adrian as a jerkoff—though he is one, sorta—you really must look at the parallels between Amaro and Glisscielle. That's right, I purposely put in parallels in here. A true sign of evilness. 

Alocin: Sad part is I had to sit here and think what alocin was backwards. Yeah, kinda slow, I know. And Alocin, you know that Jared isn't an old soul. Maybe I'll scribble something for him later. Feel the love! 

Fin: I'm sorry it was the saddest thing you read, but I'm flattered you think it's the best. And about Bryan and Rita…well, honey, this isn't McDonald's, and you just order the plot like that, lol. And, about Rita being together with so-and-so…this isn't really a love story perse. It's just about her, sorta…I don't wanna give away the ending. But, I think you'll be satisfied.

Marie-Claire: Honey, take a number. I had a feeling if any of you were in my area, I'd be tarred and feathered by now for I did to Jared. Awful? Yes. Sad? Yes. Necessary? Definitely. And, as Rita stated, Jared is not an old soul. Maybe, after this story is done, I'll do something about in an epilogue or his own little vignette. And Bryan's ulterior motive? The latter. Thanks for the compliments…I'm blushing.

Phire Phoenix: Um…so I'm guess "no"? :0) I know it's not fair, but life's not fair. Don't you hate it when people use cliches as excuses? Want more? Jared died because: Life's not fair. C'est la vie. Bad things happen to good people. Stuff happens. History repeats itself. Life is like a box of chocolates…okay you get the picture. I'm sorry, but in order for this story to move on, we'd have to leave Anomina, and Jared was the only thing keeping us there. I feel just awful if I really did make you tear up, and I think this chapter oughtta make you happy.

****

Vague Verity

Chapter 11

****

"When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions,

~*~*~*~

On the road again…

Quinn was never happier to leave a place, even the Damned Clan Island. The little town would never be just a little town any more. They drove directly from apartment to the hangar, leaving the worried Fayth and despondent Rik behind. Anomina was the picture of pandemonium, but they decided to leave that to the authorities. Besides, the tri-tipped bullets were just a little too difficult to explain. Rashel and Quinn dropped Winnie off, who had promised to visit Hannah as soon as possible, and then headed towards Boston. As soon as they had a good fifty miles behind them, Rashel asked the question Quinn had been pondering himself.

"Why wasn't Verity there?"

"Where?" he responded automatically. It was a habit from the old days, to pretend not to know what was going on to draw information from the enemy. And back then, _everyone_ was an enemy.

"At the funeral. Didn't Rik invite her? Oh, never mind…" Rashel remembered that Rik had been a functioned like a rotting turnip, and was even less animated when they last saw him. 

"Fayth said she couldn't reach her. Couldn't reach Smith, either."

"Did they run away again?" Quinn shrugged.

"Seems unlikely. Rita would be missing the reviews for the exit exams…"

"Rita," Rashel interrupted, "has been very unbalanced lately."

"Also true. Let's not think about it, Rashel. Let's not think about that place at all. We went there, we investigated, and saved about three hundred teenagers." He didn't mention the near fatalities. That kid who took one in the gut almost bought the farm, but missed the purchase thanks to Winnie's extra attention. Other than that, there were no deaths of civilians. 

"About half of whom will die of STD's, drug overdoses, or the effects of alcohol. There's a certain amount of fulfillment you get when you hear that, isn't there?"

"Enough to fill a thimble."

"It's good to know the world has such optimistic people like us, isn't it John?"

"How long will you keep that annoying, feminine voice up?"

She dropped the fallaciously happy tone. "Technically, I don't think it was us who stopped it. You saw Rita dance with him. And many reported seeing Adrian shake his head to his people."

Quinn sighed tiredly. "To think that's where Thierry's money went. To _reports_."

Rashel sympathetically patted his knee. "Nobody ever said bribery was cheap."

~*~*~*~

Las Vegas

Winnie dropped her luggage and cleared her throat when she saw who was in the room. Nilsson had mentioned there were guests, but didn't say which guests.

Maria opened her eyes and propped herself against the pillows. "Winnie." She made it sound like a terrible oath rather than a name.

"Maria," the witch threw back with equal virulence.

"Did you leave your flying monkeys at home?"

"Where's the rest of the lollipop guild?" she retorted with a toss of her hair.  
  
Maria glared and then threw her head back and laughed. "I was wondering when you would arrive," she said, and slid off the bed. "I think it's about time we upgraded your broomstick."

"Is Bitch Academy extending holiday vacations?"

"Hmm, no, but my teachers are simply begging me to bring back their star pupil. When will you be ready for a return?"

Winnie rolled her eyes and followed Maria down the hall and to the rec. room. To win with Maria in a battle of insults was damn near impossible if one didn't think quickly enough. The change of time zones must have scrambled her brain.

"Have you gained weight?"

"It keeps me warm in the winter," the smaller girl replied, handing Winnie a pool stick. If the witch wasn't hooked up to the grapevine, Maria decided it wasn't necessary to tell everybody about the pregnancy. "I'd rather be at NYU than here, though. Valdis's idea."

"How did he manage to tear you away from mythology?" Winnie asked, curious, and landed two in a side pocket.

"Oh, you know me, materialistic as I am. You are now looking at a proud owner of a two headed baby turtle. It's in my room, sleeping."  


"Why am I not surprised, I wonder… Where is Thierry?"

"Doing public relations. Anomina's all over the news, my dear, haven't you heard?"

"But the shootings are so two days ago!"

"More like seven, honey, but they've given up the man hunt on the sniper. No, this time fifty teenagers have died, and two hundred something are fatally ill."

Winnie stumbled, causing the eight ball to fly towards Maria, narrowly dodging her head. "What?"

"Winnie, dear, where have you been?" She murmured it rhetorically, and leaned forward to see if she could "accidentally" shoot one at the witch's head. "There's breaking news on every channel. The little hamlet's been quarantined." Maria glanced up, and saw that Winnie was truly surprised. "Winnie, everyone knows about it. Keller calls every five seconds, trying to raise hell for the lack of discretion. Then Galen calls to cancel whatever she planned because they can't get a baby sitter."

"I've been flying nonstop for ten hours. When we left Anomina, everything was fine!"

"That's why it's called breaking news. It's _just_ broken."

"I can't believe this!"

"Believe it. I just hope Thierry gets out Fayth and her boyfriend before the doctors get their hands on them. It would be kind of hard to explain Rik's blood, huh?…Winnie?" Maria looked up and found, instead of a witch, a calm vampire.

"Who is it, Nilsson?" she asked, eyeing the portable phone in his hand with suspicion.

He smiled. "Mrs. Drache, as you very well know."

Maria sighed and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Yeah, Maria—"

"No, I'm sorry, this is Get Help Network. We are here to help rabid panther shifters who insist on pestering stressed individuals in the Descouedres Mansion. If you are responsible for Nilsson's emotional breakdown, press one. If you are a blood thirsty and bored house wife press two…"

"Maria Eldson—"

"If you are neglecting your child press…wait, _just hang up the damn phone_! This isn't your mission, Keller, get over it!" With that, she perkily ended the call and tossed it to the couch. "Nilsson, are you very busy?"

"Other than removing the rubber ducks _somebody_ placed in all the baths and Jacuzzis of the house hold…" He looked at her pointedly. Maria gave a nervous laugh, and shoved the toy store receipt farther down her back pocket. 

"That Hannah and her bath toys…seeing as it's not that urgent, come finish this game with me."

"All right," he agreed after some persuasion, and approached the table. "But I must warn you I'm a wizard at billiards…who scratched the cloth?" he asked, feeling the rip on the green.

"Winnie," she answered immediately, and avoided looking up into his laughing eyes.

~*~*~*~

Boston

A few days later, Kyros was waiting as Winnie stepped off the plane. Boston had never looked so glum, even with the cold sunshine pouring over them.

"Who rehired you?" she asked over her sunglasses. Before he could answer, she handed him her bags and began to walk towards his Lexus. "Shouldn't you be in the New York capital or something?" Winnie called over her shoulder, signaling him to follow.

"That's Albany, dumb ass."

"What was that?"

Kyros dumped the bags in the trunk and strode to her window. "You have a big ass!" he yelled with a wide, false smile, knowing very well his words would be muddled through the thick glass, being both bullet and sound proof. She gave a confused smile back, and shooed him away. "Witches," he muttered as he walked around to the driver's seat. "Just stupid vermin with Harry Potter shit in 'em." He had been ready to welcome her, he really had been. But that bitchy, princess attitude drew anything but an upside down frown from him. Kyros gazed at the girl, who studied her nails, before entering the car. Maybe it would be best if Thierry sent all of them to a "special" academy in England. And then pushed that academy off a cliff.

"Quinn," he answered, purposely making sudden stops when he saw her touching up her lipstick. "He needs help with the investigation. The Maiden and Thierry are already there. Some other people too, I forget."

"Go figure."

Kyros decided to ignore that. "Any way, it's apparently the biggest breach on discretion on any Daybreak mission, ever. Other than Jez's incident number on that train. Thierry insists it's not anybody's fault, but we all know the truth in _that_." Kyros glanced at her meaningfully, and Winnie rolled her eyes. "Lotta people are bored though, and eager to help. Everybody's so freakin' sure they could solve this problem. Oh, and Thea and Eric are coming too."

"How is it that you know more than me?"

"How is it that we always get stuck in a car together?" he parried, making a sharp left that wasn't necessarily sharp. Winnie swore a blue streak and then punched his arm.

The ride to Anomina was like a prison sentence for both passengers, except twice as painful. By the time they bypassed the many roadblocks, and endured enough police to fill all Academy movies, murder was on both minds. Fayth's boarding house was a welcome sight.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they were surprised to find the entire floor empty. The only evidence of inhabitants were four or five empty pizza boxes, and a mountain of luggage on Jared's old bed. Winnie checked the perimeter, and joined Kyros in the living room. The shifter relaxed in the recliner, finishing the remnants of the refrigerator. 

"Where are they? And what are you doing?"

Kyros shrugged. "Eating. I skipped lunch just to pick you up, you know."

Winnie let out a growl and appeared ready to choke the unsuspecting fox when royalty popped his head over the threshold. 

"Now, now, Winnie. You have to at least warn somebody before you kill them. Only assassins do it from behind. Hey," Delos protested when the boy began to laugh, "there was no double meaning in that." Kyros doubled over any way. Winnie gave him a little shock before approaching the prince. 

"Where is everybody?" He motioned to her feet. "Under my toes?"

"You hafta admit," Kyros called out, still recovering from Winnie's tiny jolt. "Those feet are like surfboards—"

"I meant," Delos cut in, "downstairs. That's where the investigation is." The bickering duo followed the vampire. 

Daybreakers were crawling all over the place. Some were sniffing out clues, witches examining and reexamining samples. Among the well organized swarm, the humans pored over the information of all of Anomina residents. And the Daybreak leader was nowhere to be found.

Winnie soon joined a witch at a desk, while Kyros searched and found his target.

"Kestrel, Kestrel, Kestrel. How do you keep in such great—" He abruptly closed his mouth. If it had been opened, whatever had been on the end of the tweezer would have been inhaled.

"Smell this," she ordered, not bothering to turn around.

"Pass," he muttered, pushing her hand away. Instead, he leaned over, and stared at the blank piece of paper Kestrel was studying. "Let me guess. A polar bear lost in the snow. An albino eaten by a snowman. White furniture inside the Matrix. A—"

"Hair samples, Kyros. Luna's."

"Oh gross. You were going to have me smell that?"

"It's been contaminated. All these samples have." Now that Kyros focused, he could see the brown strands on the sheet. 

"By what?"

"That's just it. The witches have already recognized it, but it doesn't quite fit the precise descriptions."

"Like what?"

Kestrel pointed to a single strand. "This. Jared fell into undiluted, activated Dragon's Blood."

"And he _lived_?" Kestrel frowned at Kyros. "Oh…right. He didn't."

"Well, he wouldn't have, for long. It's stronger than Dragon's Blood. No really," she claimed when Kyros snorted. "It is. I think that it's been activated by a different spell. And the Selket powder is more than just Selket powder. It's all been mixed with more advanced techniques. By a really, really, _really_ strong witch."

"Oh, come on," the taller boy scoffed, "That would mean we had the world's most powerful magician right under our feet. Quinn would have sensed it."

"Can you imagine a witch strong enough to block her very presence from, quite possibly, the world's strongest psychic?" Kestrel asked as Kyros pulled up a chair next to her.

"Nope."

Kestrel narrowed her eyes. "Try. Hello," she said over his shoulder. The shifter turned and found himself staring into the wide, startling eyes.

"Hello," Aradia returned. "Hello Kyros."

"How ya doin' Maiden? I heard about your mission on Las Vegas, great job on those rogues—"

"Kyros," she interrupted with a smile. "Please. As you can see, we have more than enough helpers here. And we can't have you distracting all the young ladies," she added slyly. Kestrel, again, rolled her eyes, but refrained from speaking. If that was the way to get rid of him, then so be it.

The witch continued. "I'd rather you go see to Jared Luna's friend. Something Pinesworth. He's in Glisscielle's house…he didn't like seeing all these werewolves. Reminded him, you know."

"Are you sending me away?" Kyros asked, only half buying the friendliness. "Quinn just rehired me!"

Aradia appeared a little distressed. "Yes…but, we need the important workers later on in the investigation. The extras are being used for the primary investigation. When we get down to the hard core evidence, we'll call you."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Would I lie?" Aradia asked, and widened her eyes a little bit more. Kyros sighed and scratched his head.

"Yes," he answered. "But I'll leave any way because you were so nice when you turned me down." On his way out, Kyros heard Hugh announce that fifty more teenagers had died. Outside the building, the human investigators whizzed this way and that. Deciding that the traffic would hinder the trip, Kyros shifted and ran to Providence Circle. In Rita's driveway sat the Yota, and in the window he spied Fayth pacing.

"Guess who's back!" he announced as soon as he walked in. To his complete shock, Fayth ran over and hugged him. Before he could return the affection, and hopefully more, she broke away.

"Thank Goddess you're here. Rik's in the master bedroom. He won't say anything, he won't do anything. He just…sits there." The last was said forlornly as the girl looked back to the room, as if she could see her depressed friend through the walls. Not wanting to witness tears—because, to be truthful, he had no idea how to deal with tears, especially those of females—Kyros quickly said:

"And you're glad to have me for entertainment," he finished with a smile. "I'd be happy to help, babe, but I don't think it's loyal at all—OW!" Kyros rubbed the injured rib as Fayth grabbed her coat.

"You are here to irritate the hell outta him. If anybody could get a response from a vegetable, it's you."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Fayth stared at him as if it was obvious.

"Kyros, what you do nonstop…Talk," she answered when he stared at her blankly.

"Hey, hey where are you going?" he called out as she swept out the door.

"Home. I can't stand not helping," she yelled back and wiggled through the car window, as the lock was stuck on both doors of the Yota.

"But they have enough helpers there. The Maiden told me so," he protested, watching forlornly as Fayth pulled out of the drive way. 

"That's what they're telling people who aren't very helpful," she replied with a toothy smile.

Kyros grumbled about humans, witches, and females altogether as he locked the door and searched for the master bedroom. Fayth was right about one thing; the leech had turned dormant. He was sure Fayth hadn't tried _everything_ to get a reaction. A strip tease would have snapped the vampire right outta the conscious coma.

After regaling the vampire with all family anecdotes, and their life stories, Kyros was stumped. This was his toughest challenge yet. Usually after he told somebody his father's fishing accident at Niagara Falls, the listener either left the room or begged him to stop. Maria had looked ready to staple his mouth shut after his mother's life story. But, Rik continued to sit there. And suddenly Kyros remembered he hadn't told his own, fascinating chronology.

He had reached his role in the Final Battle when Hugh arrived. The Old Soul was beyond bewildered when he walked in the master bedroom, only to find a shirtless Kyros standing over a vampire sitting on the bed.

"Whoa, sorry about that," he apologized, and quickly backed out of the room.

"Wait a minute," Kyros called out, and Hugh reluctantly peeped in. "Come in and join us." Then the cheerful Old Soul looked absolutely terrified. "It's not everyday I show people my battle scars…what I mean is, it's not every day people care."

Understanding dawned on the human. "Right. Sorry, Snow, but I'm not one of those people. And I don't think he does either." Hugh gestured to Rik, coming closer. "What is he?"  


"By appearance, you'd think bored as hell. But on the inside, you know he's hanging on my every word." Hugh became skeptical. "It's in the eyes," Kyros persisted. "Any way, I got this one when this vampire came flyin' at me with a scythe. Where the hell he gotta scythe, I have no—"

"Vampire, I'm guessing," the human answered himself cheerfully. "Is this the one who knew the werewolf?"

"Yeah, best amigos. Nothing fruity, though, so don't even think about it."

"I wasn't," Hugh replied, frowning. "He hasn't spoken?"

"Nah. Not one 'shut up' since I came here. Can't you send one of the witches to work on him?" 

Hugh shook his head regretfully. "None can be spared. Thierry decided to send them to the hospitals and hospices, to see if they could try and save some kids. There's only a hundred left now, give or take a few."  


"What about the ones that were shot?"

"They've already died. We've tried pinpointing who on earth it could be, but the only people who left town recently is Verity Glisscielle, Bryan Smith, Adrian Amaro, and a few Night Worlders. But no witches."

"And have we found them?"

"Smith's name pops up whenever he spends money. But there's no word as to whether Glisscielle is with him. Amaro is also nowhere to be found." Hugh supplied as much information was possible and took a seat next to Rik.

"Where has Smith been?"

"A little town called Monte Frio the last time we checked, but then we lost track. Our contacts are combing Europe as we speak, but there's no guarantee they stayed on the continent." Hugh rubbed his eyes tiredly, and rose from the bed. "That's all I know. Thierry said I could come here for a place to sleep…" Kyros directed him to Rita's bed room. Kyros shrugged on his shirt and was about to leave for McDo's when Rik spoke.

"She cried here."

Kyros stopped, but didn't bother to turn around. "Who?" he asked casually as he flipped off the lights, cloaking Rik in darkness.

"Verity. She cried here, for her family." He heard the vampire sigh, and settle into bed. "Jared was my family," Rik stated flatly, and stared up at the ceiling. Kyros said nothing, for he preferred not to think of his composed Rita that way. Instead he left the room, and took Hugh's order before quitting the house altogether. It was pitiful to see a grown _man_ cry.

~*~*~*~

Las Vegas

"Please."

"No."

"_Please_?"  


"No."

"Pretty please?"  


"How many times do I have to tell you? _No_."

"Please, you big dumb ass. I've said more 'pleases' in these five minutes than I've said in my entire lifetime. What does that say to you?"

Valdis rolled his eyes and walked out of the kitchen. "You've had really bad manners." Maria frowned, and followed, tugging Nilsson along with her.

"No. It means you're being unreasonable."

"Is unreasonable and dumb ass supposed to be flattering? Because it isn't." Valdis set down her tray on the rec. room billiards table. 

"But it's what you are being!" Maria pouted. "Nilsson is a very skilled pilot. We'd be in Anomina tomorrow, all in one piece. Well…two separate pieces really, on account of me and him being two separate people—"

"No. Come here and eat."

"But we can't stay here! I thought the reason we came was to visit people. There are no people here, Valdis, so it kinda ruins the whole plan!" She accepted the salad Valdis handed her, and then quickly passed it to Nilsson.

"How about we stay here for a while, and then go visit Ash in Arizona?" Valdis suggested as he took the salad from the butler and handed it to the rightful owner. His soul mate frowned at the vegetables.

"But it's boring there. Stars, planets, whoop-dee-doo," she said flatly. "That's all they do, Valdis. Shagging by day, star gazing by night." Nilsson let out a chuckle before he could help it. "Anomina's a crime scene, for Chrissake. I bet Mary Lynnette's flying there as we speak."

"No. Now eat."

"Valdis, please. You never get me anything any more!"

"And where's Bert and Ernie?" Valdis asked pointedly, referring to the two headed means of getting Maria on the plane. Maria turned shamefaced and began poking at her salad. 

"Nilsson lost it in the green house," she murmured innocently as she stabbed all the chicken pieces onto her fork. Nilsson, who had been standing aloofly to witness the exchange, now bolted up right.

"That's a fib if I ever heard one! You lost it, because you weren't paying attention to it while you uprooted your…extra plants."

Maria abandoned her lunch and marched up to her husband. "Do you see what this horrible man has done to me? Making a pregnant woman work on her hands and knees, it's disgraceful! It's awful! It shouldn't go unpunished. I say we should send him away to a small little town in Massachusetts. I'll tag along, to make sure he gets there."

Valdis looked over Maria's head. "Was she framing somebody again?"

"Yes," he answered, much calmer. "And I think it was me." Maria said nothing and ferociously bit at the chicken bits. It would take a week for Maria to open negotiations on the length of the stay. Another to dissuade him from a trip to Arizona. It was finally decided to stay for three more weeks in Las Vegas, and then two more weeks in Italy when the baby was old enough. The closer for the deal was a "new" two headed turtle; in actuality, Nilsson had found it resting in a watering can, but there was no need for Maria to know that.

~*~*~*~

Anomina

Weeks passed all too quickly for those in Anomina. The quarantine had been lifted when it was observed that the family members did not fall ill to the mysterious disease. When the coroners left the morgue, Daybreakers broke in to do their own examination. The results varied. Some died of rapid skin infections, inexplicable tumors, disintegration of random parts of the digestive track, and many others.

Thierry, along with the rest of his team, were discouraged. Thea had managed to identify the ingredients of the potions, and nearly a third of the spells used with them. But the information could not tell them how the humans had come into contact with the potent mixtures. And the Maiden could not ferret anybody in Circle Midnight who possessed the skills of the suspect. 

Those who had come to escape boredom left with the realization that their presence was hindering, rather than helpful. With Thierry's approval, of course. Others learned that Anomina was simply a new place for boredom, just with more trees, and took their leave as well. Kyros was forced to lay low for a while, when the humans discovered a Bob Steve had disappeared just weeks before the dance and then returned a few days after. The principal of Anomina High was half certain this Mr. Steve was responsible for Verity's disappearance. More and more teens died each week. Gradually, the rumors faded with the frosty temperatures. 

By the time it was officially spring, the humans named the cause of death of food poisoning. All who had attended the 332nd Anniversary Soiree had died, some quickly, and some agonizingly slow. Not readily fooled, the media probed and ridiculed the very idea, but none could produce a sound theory themselves. And they could not connect the burning of the "Come Back Soon!" sign with the epidemic. Residents thought it was strange that the "incest couple," Rashel and Quinn, were not harmed. It was the same situation with the Daybreakers, as their numbers dwindled. Although the means of how the spells were dispersed remained a mystery, most were content to say the Amaro had done it. Most, except for Thierry, Fayth, and Aradia. Especially Aradia.

"The very idea," she ranted. To be sure, it was a very Maiden-like rant, so it was deemed acceptable. Her ideas poured out animatedly as the last of the Daybreakers left Fayth's apartment. "A dragon? A _dragon_? Responsible for those spells? I'm not approving of the use, but for Goddess's sake, give credit to where it's due. Any body could see it was a witch. You know, if I was still blind, even _I_ would see it was witch. Right?"

Kyros's head snapped up, startled at being addressed. After finishing a three foot sub single handedly, he had been napping on the recliner. "Right," he agreed, confused.

"Of course, I understand that the older dragons have some wisdom in them, but this was a mere boy. His own parents didn't trust him to handle himself. They made sure he was accompanied by his betrothed in the tomb when we took over. I don't see how a few centuries made him the Bobby Fisher of magick. It simply doesn't make sense. Right?"

"Right," he mumbled again, wrapping himself in sleep once more. He caught scent of Thierry entering the room before completely drifting off.

"Thierry, you must send a memo. It was not a dragon. You know, I know, and Kyros knows the truth. Let the rest of the Circle know."

"Why, Aradia. You almost sound as if you're proud."

"I am certainly not! But, even you must admit, nobody expected such power coming from a witch, the supposed weakest species of all Circles."

"True. But to say it wasn't the dragon would leave this an unsolved case. And Circle Daybreak hasn't had an unsolved case since…well, a long time. Nobody wants to ruin the record."

"You will accuse an innocent man for the sake of a record?" she challenged, but her facial expression serene. Thierry turned away, disliking the wise smile the Maiden wore.

"Not for the sake of a record, but for the sake of our sanity. Besides, given his history, Amaro must be guilty of _something_. Also, you don't have definite proof that Amaro didn't do it. Right, Kyros?"

Again, startled by the sound of his name, the fox shifter jumped out of his slumber. "Right," he immediately replied, his gaze alternating between the two. Which one had said his name? In his dream, it had been a Kate Beckinsdale in her Hawaiian girl suit from Pearl Harbor

"There you have it." Thierry smiled sympathetically and rose, luggage in hand. "I know, you know, and Kyros knows the truth."

Aradia returned the Elder's amicable smile, but frowned as soon as the vampire was out the door. She turned to discuss the matter further with the fox shifter, only to find an empty recliner.

Thierry felt nothing amiss as he drove off, or so he told himself. The friends of the werewolf had recovered well enough, and food poisoning was bound to happen from time to time. At first, he had been mad as hell when they could not find cures, and ready to inflict damage on public property before Hannah called. Deep down inside, the Elder knew he was still broiling, more with himself than any agent. But, as the witches informed him, there were no cures. The children could not be saved. It was better they died in their innocence any way. One witch had said the last part with a sarcastic smirk, but Thierry liked to think of it was the truth. Perhaps their individual makers had ordained it this way, to save them from the horrors of the world. It was destiny, Thierry repeated silently. His hands clutched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. It was destiny, not some damn sorcerer or dragon.

By the time he reached the private hangar, he had left permanent dents on the steering wheel. It was dumb luck that Hannah called at the same time.

"Hello to you too," his soul mate said. "You sound kinda…tense."

"I am. Three hundred children dead, Hannah. Dead."

"I thought they were high school seniors."

"They were," Thierry sighed, settling in the cockpit. "But, more or less, children."

"You couldn't have saved them."

"I know," he mumbled. "But it still pisses me off."

"Why?"

"I don't know…they didn't fail the mission, Hannah. They did what they were supposed to do. They went to see what made Anomina a magnet, and they found out. We did everything right, Hannah, but Anomina High lost almost all of their senior class."

"How are Quinn and Rashel taking it?"

"About as pissed off as I am. Rashel's been running around taking care of everything. I mean _everything_, Hannah. She scheduled me to leave at this time, you know. And Quinn goes and takes extra long walks. The local Night World's been worrying about us moving into their territory."

"Has there been conflicts?"

"More than I'm comfortable with. Almost half of them had Quinn involved. I think it's time to send those two on vacation."

"I was about to say that! It's almost like we're linked, somehow."

Thierry laughed, grateful to have his soul mate to cheer him up.

~*~*~*~

New York

"I have had enough of your lip—"

"Oh shut up, you've had enough of everybody's lip—"

"Now, don't you tell him to shut up…"

"Can't a man have a peaceful dinner in his own house nowadays?"

"This isn't your house."

"Well, it should be! Look at this place, it's falling apart…"

"Pass the salt. Please pass the salt. The salt—"

"Is this really liver? I think you got ripped off…"

"No, that's the pepper. The _salt_."

"Of course it's liver. Are you calling me stupid?"

"Somebody's smoking. I smell smoke. I thought we all agreed no smoking until after ten!"

"In my house, there's smoking whenever I want!"

"This isn't your house!"

"The salt. THE SALT! JUST PASS THE DAMN SALT!"

Kyros sat silently at the dinner table, with an idiotic smile on his face that was hard to erase. He was glad to be back in New York, and not with a secret. It had been hard to keep the news of his termination from his family. And it became harder when Verity left. Now here he was, with both parents, four grandparents, six brothers and sisters, and he had nothing to hide. His smile got wider when his grandfather handed his impatient five year old brother the sugar.

"And what the hell are you smiling about?" his maternal grandmother asked irritably. Kyros merely shrugged, then noticed that all his family members were wondering the same thing.

"I just love you's guys," he answered and handed his brother, who was dumbfounded, the salt shaker. There was a pause, and the talking continued.

"Oh my god, my son's turned into a fruitcake hippie," his father moaned, looking heavenward. Undisturbed by the melodrama, Kyros followed his gaze, but was disappointed to see just their the light fixture. 

"What's up there dad?" one of his brothers asked.

"Now don't you call our son a cupcake," Mrs. Snow scolded.

"I'll call him whateva the hell I want! I made him didn't I?"

"You know," his paternal grandmother interrupted, "I read that it's natural for a father to have such high exploitations for his firstborn."

"That's expectations, grandma," Kyros corrected, and was rewarded by a slap on the wrist.

"Shut up, ya damn cupcake."

~*~*~*~

Across the pond…

__

Goodness, I miss Jared.

Verity stood still as the rest of the tour group moved, and Bryan let her hand slip away. The Tower of London was very interesting, she could not refute that, but so…morbid. Bryan had warned her about that on the way to the landmark. Her husband looked back at her, with a quizzical glance, but decided to let her be. Verity, he had quickly learned, was inclined to get lost in her thoughts.

She did not fear ghost sightings. In fact, she would have welcomed it. An apparition would sufficiently, and ironically, distract her from her thoughts of death. Jared's death, to be exact.

__

What had they done to his body? She wondered. Had the Daybreakers, so unpleasantly efficient, quickly cremated her friend, just as they had done her family? She didn't like that thought, of Jared being burned. Of course, he was dead and would feel nothing. But still.

__

Sometimes, Bryan makes jokes that aren't as funny as Jared's.

Rita trailed behind the group, lest she be lost. It was that darn tour guide who had reminded her of him. Something about a Gray Lady. Sad story, really, losing her loved ones. And, that sad lull in his words as he retold the tale had caused Rita to think. Did Jared have loved ones? Did Quinn personally go to somebody's house, wake them up at midnight, and told the bewildered family that, he was very sorry, but there was an accident?

It was hard to cry for Jared. Not because of Bryan's presence—which was constant, yet mildly irritating. But because…Jared wouldn't be there to comfort her. She knew it didn't make sense, but she did not want to be held by her husband while she cried for another man. The only person who could half comforted her was dead. She could not cry.

__

I miss Jared's arms around me.

She wondered how Rik was, and automatically returned the smile Bryan gave her. Rik was most likely devastated, but he had Fayth to comfort him. Rita speculated a romance between the two, and perhaps this healing time was a way to bring them together. 

Silently, she hoped them the best. Rita just hoped they left Anomina, because nothing lasted in Anomina. Then she wondered:

__

If Jared was alive, would he miss me back?

~*~*~*~

Las Vegas

Valdis frowned at Maria, who scowled back. She wrapped the bed covers high around her neck, and underneath she folded her arms. Valdis copied her stance, except at the foot of the bed.

"Get up," he ordered succinctly.

"The second I do," she replied, each word distinct, "you will stuff me with more vegetables than a cornucopia. I am not getting out of bed."

"Won't it be embarrassing when I drag you down to the kitchen in your night clothes?"  


"And won't it be sad when I explain to our son how his father died by a freak, four post bed accident?" Maria's eyes focused on one corner, with a particularly sharp end. Valdis studied it, also, wondering why on earth the vampire Elder allowed such furniture.

"Get out of bed. It's already seven thirty."

"Exactly! It is seven thirty on a Saturday morning. There are so many things wrong with this picture, I don't know where to begin."

"How about your obvious state of laziness?"

"No, I'll just start with you obvious habit of selective hearing. I. Am. Not. Getting. Up."

Thierry had just descended from the roof and to the fourth floor when he heard fiery obscenities. Kicking his pace up to a run, he followed the source all the way to the bottom floor, in the kitchen. He was relieved to find the Eldson's fixing themselves a meal. Maria sat on a stool, brooding, as Valdis selected food items from one of the refrigerators. She brightened considerably at the sight of Thierry.

"Hello! Thierry, darling, please kill him. You don't have to do it right away, but sometime in the next week would be fine—"

"Eldson."

"Descouedres," Valdis returned, nodding a hello. 

"All right, so you don't have to kill him really. Just cut off his arms. The brute dragged me from my bed. Damaged _your_ bed, Thierry—"

"How was your investigation?" Valdis asked politely.

Thierry shrugged. "Successful and unsuccessful, depends on how you look at it."

"Better yet, all you have to do is cut off one arm. He can't carry me around like a cave man if only has one arm."

"Hannah know you're back?" Valdis asked, pouring a tall glass of milk.

"Nope, I don't want to wake her."

"The left one will be fine. He doesn't do much with the left arm, I don't think—"

"How about sparring with me this afternoon?" Thierry suggested. Valdis's eyebrows rose. "I haven't combat practiced in a while."

"Sure. Why not now?" The Elder shrugged and agreed, and left to go change.

Maria jumped back when Valdis set the plate before her. "Eat," he ordered as he quitted the room. "And go get some exercise when you're done." Valdis deliberately said the opposite of what he wished. By the time noon rolled around, Valdis, exhausted, asked Nilsson where Mrs. Eldson was. The butler replied that Maria was in her room, sleeping.

Valdis returned to the indoor basket ball gym and approached the mat, where Thierry stood. The Elder was contemplating his next weapon, not at all tired. Valdis decided that, whatever weapon he chose, the Elder would win and laid down for some rest.

"I thought you said you hadn't sparred in a while."

"I haven't," Thierry answered. "I expected you to be some challenge though. None of the Daybreakers have been. Keller came close, but she was impetuous at the time."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was arrogance in your voice, Descouedres." He heard Thierry toss something towards him, and reached up to catch the practice sword mid air.

"I'm allowed to have some faults, Eldson. Besides, I didn't ask you to practice just to show off."

"Oh yeah," Valdis remembered, not rising. "Thanks for rescuing me from Maria. And not killing me, or cutting my arms off, or just my left one—"

"That's not it." Thierry walked up to Valdis, and looked down at him. "I heard her heart beat when I came in."

Valdis's expression became stormy, and he sat up. "Good for you."

"How is it that she jogs?"

Valdis stood, and dusted himself off. "She doesn't much, any more." Unnerved by Thierry's stare, Valdis walked over to the collection of assorted arms.

"It's irregular, Eldson," he continued calmly, and stood beside him. "Strained."

Valdis set down the wooden sword and examined a pair of daggers. "Descouedres." The simple name became a warning.

"When are you going to have her examined?" Valdis didn't answer. "Have you even told her she's to be examined?" Again, silence. Thierry assumed his choice of weapons weren't that interesting. "Don't tell me you're afraid of her."

Valdis looked up at Thierry, his eyes a furious blue. "Of course not," he snapped. "But I can't very well tie her to a chair. It's kind of straining to be examined against your will."

"Have you tried… well, I don't approve of it, but you know. Mind control," he finally said when Valdis didn't look up. 

"She's sensitive."

"Maybe—"

"Look. I got it. I don't need you telling me what needs to be done. We're not stupid." Valdis stopped his voice from rising, remembering this was the man who let them visit. "She just needs to get out her denial stage. It won't take long." As both momentarily remembered Maria's past, the vampires realized the amount of bull shit in the last sentence.

"Maybe," Thierry continued as if Valdis never spoke. "Hannah should speak to her."

Surprise settled on Valdis's features. "Descouedres…I know they're close, but Maria won't even listen to me."

Thierry merely smiled, for this vampire obviously had no clue what role Hannah played at the Final Battle. Instead of explaining, Thierry handed Valdis the practice sword again, and made the first strike.

~*~*~*~

It was all very nice, really it was. But it was also very, very stupid.

Verity sat very still as the man behind her paddled towards the bungalow. She knew she would be of no help, and did not bother to pretend to be. The calm water around was crystal clear, so light blue Rita was sure the sky envied it. As she looked down, she saw the joyful marine life bustling beneath them. And although there was no cloud in the sky, the sun remained cool, and did not beat down mercilessly. Other bungalows sat quietly, spaced out so that none of the inhabitants would bother each other. Each their own isolated, little island.

Moorea was beautiful, Bryan was right about that. More beautiful than any of the other places he had taken her, even more than King Louis' castle. Verity had thought only such paradises existed in wishful paintings. Her own bungalow was still ten minutes away, and through her glasses Verity could see somebody moving in the windows.

Lazily, her mind wandered to their marriage, and the validity of it. Both were under age, and technically the judge in France had been unnaturally convinced to do the ceremony. Would she be considered Mrs. Smith in the States? Better yet, would they ever return to the States? She herself had no family left there, although she had wanted to see how Maria's baby did with such temperamental parents. And Bryan had been formally disowned, much to the pleasure of her husband. He kept the name, however, because he could not think of any other. 

Two kids married before they reached drinking age. Yeah, that was _great_ idea.

There was always that feeling of impropriety that Rita could not shake off. That flat note that ruined the entire, romantic melody. Verity frowned to herself, and pinched at her hands. She wished she had never met _him_, and that she had never known completion. If she hadn't met him, she wouldn't feel so wrong with Bryan. 

And Bryan tried, in his own desperate way. He had swept her from paradise to paradise every week. Fulfilling her dreams with all she ever wanted in life. There was no reason to feel like an adulteress.

Her hand idly slipped into the water. Even the temperature was perfect. It was as if her husband had arranged it all, just to please her. Verity closed her eyes, and in the back of her mind knew the truth. 

They had played house, under her duress, when they were younger. It had all been make-believe, and everything, from her home cooking to his business outfit, had been for show. Nothing real enough to carry on forever. Verity recognized the similarities from then and now. And none were comforting.

He had sort of rescued her, after all. From his perspective he did what was right. And, even if she changed her mind now, there would have been no turning back. Nobody could reverse a rescue and remain the same. 

It would have been a lie if she said she didn't enjoy his touch. And completely untrue if she said that their nights were peaceful, silent, or soporific. They were teenagers, after all. His caress was soft, but left nothing solid enough to grasp. His kisses tender, but did not warm her completely. At first, even as they waited for her "I do," Rita found the idea preposterous. They were mere infants, a sixteen and seventeen year old, entering into a union meant to last forever. Bryan couldn't even stick to one kind of chewing gum. 

Verity wished she could banish all ungrateful thoughts from her head, but they tended to creep up in quiet peaceful moments like these. Bryan was happy; that should have made her happy.

The canoe knocked gently against the porch, shaking Verity out of her thoughts. Thanking her captain with a smile, she stepped onto the dock. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. That was strange. Bryan always locked the door, despite the fact they were in the middle of lovely nowhere. It was a precaution, Bryan had told her, because, aside from his mother, his family was clinically insane. Assassins' visits were not certain, but it would be something his little sister would send for fun.

She entered the bungalow, and sidestepped the floor window. It was eerily quiet, save the soothing waves. Bryan would be waking up in a few hours, for he had become the living definition of nocturnal. Just to be certain he hadn't gone snorkeling, she crept into the bedroom and observed her husband's form under the bed sheets.

His words, from what seemed to be ages ago, echoed in her head.

__

Have you ever seen_ a dead vampire?_

"Bryan," she called out, inside knowing he couldn't answer.

__

We turn into dry withered little things…

There was something protruding from his chest. His eyes were still open in tragic shock. She used to admire that lava color.

__

We turn into mummies. Forever.

Verity's mouth hung open, but no sound could come out. She choked on the scream, and backed away from the body. It was a sick, twisted sight, so deceptively calm. He was supposed to be sleeping. He was supposed to lock the door.

Verity whirled from her husband, meaning to call for help. She hadn't expected the arm trapping her hands against her body, and the heavy, soaked cloth covering her face.

~*~*~*~

****

they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part." 

George Bernard Shaw

Feedback wanted…and very much valued. 


	12. Remember

****

School sucks, new job sucks, the shopping public sucks (no offense to the shopping public reading right now)…but, at least I have my fan fiction and reviewers to cheer me up. 

Nikki: Aw shucks, thanks! I love it when people "LOVE" my story! I hope you read and review again!

Martha: All right, here's what I'm planning to do: not tell you. It totally ruins that whole ambiguity thing. Sorry, and Kyros does keep his promises!

****

Alocin: I know you couldn't wait to read what happened next, but I hope you aren't too disappointed. Mostly informational crap. Sorry! But, hey, read any way!

****

Amy: No, I just don't know how to handle compliments, but thanks any way. And I hope it stays original, but no guarantees. Thanks though, and I'll try to update more in the next few weeks.

****

Zabella: I can and I did leave it there, yup, because I'm a rebel. But here is more, so I guess I made up for it!

****

Leian: Totally understand the references, but although he's the only survivor, that may not make him a contender. And I know it was heartless, but necessary (I use that one a lot, don't I?). Any who, all will be revealed in due time…also cryptic.

****

Fin: I'm glad you liked it, despite the extreme shock value. I just hope I don't run out of ideas, but I'll just keep my fingers crossed. The whole marriage was, as implied, a sorta obligation thing. I know it took me forever to update, my bad, and even worse, it's a plot-mover-alonger chapter. Sorry, next one better!

Vague Verity

Chapter 12

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"Sleep...

~*~*~*~

Thierry's accidental doze was interrupted when a sweet, young blonde called from just outside his door.

"You have no idea how long it took to convince mom to let me come here again." Gillian swept into the room, talking as if she and Thierry had been carrying on a conversation for some time. "I think she thinks I have a gambling problem."  


Thierry looked up from his laptop, surprised. "What are you doing here? I thought you were coming for spring break."

Gillian giggled, and tossed a rolled up newspaper to him. "It _is_ spring break! And where else would we go? There's no other place as big as this where we could stay for free, and the owner is ever so generous with his wallet." Her smile was hinting.

"What's this?" Thierry reached forward and unrolled the newspaper, which turned out to be a tabloid.

"Something I picked up at the airport. I thought you'd be interested." Gillian Lennox shrugged. "David and I are going shopping okay?"

But Thierry wasn't listening. The headlines were too alarming. "Mummified Demon in Tahiti," he read aloud. "'Devil's Spawn takes a Trip'?" Within seconds, he was storming out of his office, calling for Nilsson. He remembered the old days, when Night World assassins at least attempted to hide their work. For Goddess' s sake, were they _trying_ to get themselves exposed?

He then regretted sending Quinn and Rashel to the mountains. Because the Draches were now matrimonially indisposed, the Boston natives had become his most efficient leaders. And a majority of the fledglings were off on extermination missions, and absolutely none had enough experience to carry out an investigation so far away. Kyros had ordered, not asked, to leave him "the hell alone" for a while. 

It was Nilsson who came up with a solution. Thierry was amused to hear that Nilsson had a friend, who knew a man, who had some family connected with a business in Tahiti. That business owed a favor. Besides, his friend added, nobody believed in tabloids. Nilsson assured his boss that the corpse would be found and disposed of, and that the humans would never know better.

As an afterthought, Thierry requested, "And try to see who was killed this time." It was most likely a Night World council member, for Goddess knew how dangerous it was to take a position there.

~*~*~*~

Thierry and Hannah hadn't approved. Maria turned away from the window and the bleak clouds, and looked at her soul mate. He hadn't approved either. But, Lordy, she didn't want her babies born in Sin City.

Babies. It had become plural now. Hannah Snow and her stupid powers of persuasion. The ultra-sound, albeit a bit late, had been a must. Revealing four feet and four arms, at first making the irrational Maria dizzy with the thought of a mutant baby. Then, with a voice full of regret, Nilsson had said it. Twins.

One was smaller than the other. Nilsson hadn't known what it meant, and neither had the other Daybreakers. Valdis had always said an Eldson baby was strong. Maybe one was too strong for the other's well being. 

So she wanted to go to New York. It felt like a second home, the birthplace of her mother. The divisive issue was what caused the fearsome frown on Valdis's face. He simply didn't want her to travel, and Maria refused to budge on the subject. She was going home. 

Her victory was also frowned upon by all in the household. Stubborn Maria, and her foolish ideas. To travel in her condition, tsk, tsk, tsk. But she wouldn't regret it, even if Valdis hadn't spoken to her in thirty six hours. She wouldn't regret it. Even if Valdis preferred to sit as far away as possible. And he slept when he knew very well she wanted to talk to him.

Now that she dwelled upon it, it was better he slept, and not feel her worries. Maria glanced down, detesting and relishing her swollen belly. It meant she was never alone, even with her whole world mad at her. It also meant she would have to relinquish that same world some day. Maybe in another month or two. 

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, and sharply turned back to the window. Death had been so far away before. After all, if you cheat death twice, the third should be easy. But the truth had always been her enemy, thus her penchant for denial. Reality was always mind numbingly harsh, and Maria preferred to evade it.

The baby could kill her. Which one, she didn't know. Even with the super healthy meals, with just the right amount of vitamins and minerals. Maria closed her eyes, and pretended she wasn't pregnant at all. This was just a pillow in her lap. She survived hell, high water, vampires, and the Final Battle. There was no way these damn things were going to kill her.

The phrase made her flinch. She had called them "damn things," and worse, she wasn't sorry for it. They were damned. Damn these unborn babies for possibly taking her away from her soul mate. It was unbelievably stupid. These half-formed, helpless little maggots killing _her_. And worse, Valdis wouldn't see it coming. His own god damned children ruining his world while he slept blindly.

Maria gasped audibly, and wondered who the hell would take care of her children even if she did survive. No good mother would have these thoughts.

Moisture slid from her eyes. She hadn't noticed it until Valdis wiped the tears from her eyes with his sleeve. He asked her, so unaware of what was happening, what was wrong. Silly, blind Valdis.

She said nothing, and pushed him away. Everybody she knew got their damn happy ending. Well… not that sixteen year old. But she had the rest of her life, and many more, to take care of that.

~*~*~*~

She couldn't tell the difference between sleep and awake. No windows, no lights. After a while, and she had no way of telling time, the color behind her eye lids and then the room blended into the same, lifeless black. 

After the first few days, or hours she couldn't tell, Rita stopped yelling the questions. Why was she here? What did they want? Nobody answered, and she doubted if anybody heard. 

Just dead silence.

She couldn't see how large the room was, nor what color the straw was on the floor. If she held her hand in front of her face, there was no indication of it. The only way she could tell she slept at all was the sudden appearance of sparse meals. And, try as she might, she couldn't stay awake long enough to witness the disappearance of the tray. 

Solitary confinement. It drove some people mad, to not hear and see even though eyes and ears were in perfect condition.

No. She wouldn't give in that easily. There were a lot of things to do, and going insane wasn't one of them. Of course…what was there to do in an empty box? Talking to oneself was not an option. Symptom one of madness. It was one thing when she spoke quietly to let out unhealthy emotions. And it was quite another if she said something, and then answered herself. Definitely not healthy.

So, after an immeasurable amount of time, she gave up. She gave up looking for a way out, although her courageous search had found her a small cot and blanket in the corner. She gave up shouting. She gave up trying to amuse herself. Instead she simply slept. The horrible form of imprisonment had at least one benefit. 

Verity dreamed. Not of gruesome murders, or faces long gone. But of outside. Of the sun. It was cold in here, despite the blanket. Funny how the sun never meant so much before. She missed it.

~*~*~*~

New York

For God's sake. They didn't even bother to hide the safety concerns. Thierry, rather frankly and intrusively, had sent so much medical equipment Ceberus could only move freely in the kitchen. Personally, Maria found the situation rather embarrassing, and futile. Like when the outfielders came in closer for a batter who couldn't hit a beach ball.

There was the irritating matter of this semester. It could not be made up nor finished, meaning two months of her study wasted. Valdis assured her that she could make it up when it was possible. If he only knew.

Too many times, she'd wake up because of the feeling of being watched. And find Valdis, or Sabrina by her bed. Scarily, her mother, too, but dismissed that as a dream. It was impossible to see dead people, unless one was some child actor prodigy.

April breezed by, and soon the first week of May had arrived. It was not fun, to say the least, to be cooped up with an overprotective vampire, a giggly witch, an immovable mid wife courtesy of Thierry, and a bored dog to boot. Maria could not find time to scheme for an escape plan between sleeping and arguing. She speculated her husband manipulated her time with just that intent.

It was three days past her due date when she found sleep eluded her, and Valdis was off buying food. Conveniently, three ground sleeping pills had found their way into Sabrina's pixie sticks. And, finally, that spindly little mid wife was given the day off—

"And just where do you think you're going?" Maria stilled, the front door just inches away from her hand. Javier Lorenzo. Quite possible the most irritating, opinionated, feminine warlock in the hemisphere. She pivoted slowly, and saw her midwife waiting impatiently for her answer, arms akimbo.

"Out," she said curtly. Her annoyance doubled when Javier's eyes swept up and down her form, clearly disapproving of her choices in fashion. Maria scowled, because it wasn't her fault; there wasn't a Gucci line for pregnant women. She did the same time, eyes narrowing at his top. She couldn't be sure, but wasn't that Sabrina's blouse?

"You know Mr. Eldson don't like you out during these days, Maria," he replied, with no other description than snottily, and purposely mispronounced her name. Maria clenched her fists, as both knew she clearly told him the correct pronunciation repeatedly.

"Just 'cause you got a crush on him, don't mean you gotta be a bitch to me, J. Ho." As expected, the man looked ready to slap her.

"I do not have a crush on him, and you know how much that name hurts me." He sounded so wounded Maria rued her harsh words, though Lord knew he had said worse. Awkwardly, she walked over and patted his shoulder. "Whore," he let out viciously before forcibly maneuvering her to her bed room. 

"Javier!" Maria banged against the door. "Javier, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry!" she lied. The damn warlock was holding the door knob. "Javier, even though we don't get along, and you constantly attempt to follow my style, and your hair holds more gel than all boy bands put together, and your attitude makes you unfit to be around any infant of any species, and you've drank all the tequila in the apartment…"

The silence droned on. "Well?" Javier prompted.

Maria leaned against her door, stumped. "I _was_ going somewhere with this…" Listing his faults, as endless as that was, was not the ticket out of the room. "Ouch! Javier, let me out!"

"Did you cut yourself with the letter opener?" her guard asked, little concern creeping into his voice.

"God, why does everyone think I'm self-hazardous?" she wondered aloud, and then focused. "No, Javier, my stomach hurts."

"Are you tellin' me the truth?"

"Would I lie about something important like this?" she shot back, no small amount of offense in her voice. Javier, severely miscalculating her conscience, opened the door. 

Thirty minutes later, Valdis strode through an unlocked door, and discovered an unconscious baby sitter on the floor, and a hibernating witch on his bed. Ire immediately rushed at him, but it soon ebbed when he turned around. Maria looked up at him, hands clasped behind her back, one toe digging into the carpet. She smiled in a way she knew displayed her dimples to full innocence.

"Maria…"

She sighed, and gave a girlish shrug. "But, sweetie, it was so pretty outside, I couldn't help it. I went to Central Park, and fed the duckies." Maria thought it wise not to mention the lecherous fly fisher who harassed her, and then was pushed in the lake. More ammunition to his "stay inside" campaign. "Please don't be mad at me, Valdis." Her chin drooped ever so slightly, and she didn't dare look up for his reaction. He could always see the truth in her eyes.

Thankfully it worked. He smiled, kissed the top of her head, and led her to the kitchen. The damage done to his assistants did not bother him as much as she expected. Sabrina's chatter had begun to sound a bit shrilly, and Javier's leers were getting harder to ignore. Maria glowed like a devilish angel when both came to.

"Evil little whore—" Javier began to mutter as he approached the table.

"Hey, that's my wife you're talkin' about," Valdis warned as he prepared dinner. Maria beamed happily when Javier was forced to finish his opinions in Spanish, though she was a bit piqued that nobody immediately thought Sabrina was the subject of his sentence.

After dinner, they bullied her back into her room. Maria would have thrown a tantrum, but she wanted to go any way to watch the game. Periodically, one of the three popped in to check on her. But none wanted to stay and enjoy the Yankees with her, or endure the painfully loud obscenities to opposite team and umpires. During the two and a half hours, she remained ignorant of the conversation outside.

"She's not really that unhealthy is she?" Valdis asked Javier as he washed the dishes. Javier shrugged.

"I don't know what's normal or not. Witch and human baby, I've seen. Witch and werewolf, I've heard of. Werewolf and vampire…eh, I'm not so sure a good idea. But vampire and human I don't know. Jezebel Redfern's mother did not keep no journal about her condition."

"But I'm sure interbred babies will be appearing more and more," Sabrina chirped as she wiped the plates dry. "Grandmother said so."

"Grandmother said so," both men mocked silently when the witch turned away. The phrase was being more and more used these days, especially for Maria's condition.

The conversation was cut short when they heard, "Woo! Mangez suckas!" Then Maria skipped out of her bedroom, face radiating with boundless joy. "Yankees won, and we've never done good with ties!" The three did little but acknowledge her presence, and then resumed to their tasks. Javier dared to roll his eyes at the news of her beloved team.

None particularly cared as she stood tapping her toe, displeased. Until she added, "And, as a little side note, my water just broke."

~*~*~*~

Verity Catalina Glisscielle.

Verity Catalina Glisscielle.

Truth. Purity. Slipped from the sky.

She could trace her families back six hundred years. 

She had the highest GPA in her class.

She couldn't be forgotten. They couldn't have forgotten her. Here, in this black hole, she couldn't have been forgotten. Prestigious generations of the Glisscielle name couldn't end here. Not now, not like this. 

Somebody had to wonder what happened to that bookish girl. Somebody had to wonder where the last Glisscielle went. Come graduation, one student would wonder what happened to that president who ran away. Then they'd look. Then, maybe Rik would start to search. 

Somebody would find her before she died. This wouldn't become her coffin. Lightless, empty, silent. Built with minimum comfort. No, no, somebody would remember her, despite the slightest impressions she left on the world. It wasn't possible that everybody could forget.

Is that why she was put here? In France, they had seen the historical castles, even one with an oubliette. Was this a modern version? What a way to go. Locked up when she wasn't dangerous, shut away although she wasn't much to see. Everything contradicted each other, all aspects of her captivity. 

No, she wouldn't be forgotten. No, she refused to let it end here.

~*~*~*~

New York

Maria knew nothing about labour. She had not one iota about what should be happening, and what should not be happening. Javier, naturally, knew what was what, but appeared too busy to tell her. Sabrina, her living chatterbox, was unusually preoccupied. And Valdis merely smiled whenever she asked a question.

Damn that Javier. Running up her phone bill just to call some chit in Las Vegas. If two brats weren't forcing there way out of her womb, she would have gotten up and knocked him unconscious with the telephone. At least she thought they were forcing their way out. Stubborn little things. Nothing had happened save she wet her pants. And they called this the miracle of life. What a load of crap.

Later, Maria was thoroughly ashamed of herself. It was supposed to be a monumental experience in every girl's life…and she went and fell asleep. She didn't know how, nor when. One minute she blinked her eyes shut, and she blinked them open to her lamp lit bed room. They hooked her up to some sort of machine, with more beeps than comfort.

She frowned, and tried to remove the needle from her arm without become squeamish.

"Ah, ah, ah," Javier scolded as he walked in the room. "You leave that alone. As a matter of fact, do not touch anything."

His imperious manner irked Maria. Bossing her around in her own home, for crying out loud. "How 'bout I just step outside and leave you guys to do this all by yourselves?"

"Ha. Ha," he answered dryly, and checked her monitors.

"Javier?"

"Hmm?"

"What's going on?" Maria looked down at her stomach. "You guys didn't yank them out while I was sleeping?"

Instead of answering, Javier continued his business, only muttering under his breath, "God, I hope these babies don't end up as stupid as you…"

"I heard that."

He faced her squarely, hands on hips again. "Yes. I open my mouth, sounds come out. Somebody's likely to hear them."

"Your attitude ain't so pleasing. You're fired."

"And rehired," Valdis added smoothly, walking into the room. Maria frowned when her husband merely smiled at her, and then told Javier something out of earshot. All she could hear was the rain and traffic outside. This was boring.

"Valdis?" He looked towards her, waiting. "Is there a game on tonight?"

"No, honey, there isn't." And that was it. He didn't come to fluff up her pillows, or ask her how she was. 

"Valdis?"

"What is it?"

"Have you seen my game schedule any where?"

"No, honey, I haven't."

It was so nonsensical. For a little more than nine months, he treated her like a helpless baby. Than, in the eleventh hour, and he treats her like a grown up. Maria frowned at herself. Wasn't that what she wanted?

Why did those women in the movies scream all the time? Maria felt nothing, except a little cramp in her back. Maybe they were being dramatic. She smiled arrogantly. True, she fainted more than any silver screen heroine, but when it came to babies, she was a pro.

The two left the room some time after. She glanced at the clock, and wondered just how long she slept. Outside, it was dark. Nothing to do, nothing to do at all. With a little stretching, she grabbed her laptop. When all else failed, even her sacred sarcasm, writing seemed to help.

She stared at the blank screen. There wasn't much going on right now. Happy husband, happy life. About to end, but still happy life. Writing had always been for unhappy moments. All right then, time to read.

Maria didn't know of many mothers who surfed the net during labour. There was a certain amount of guilt with that thought, but she pushed the thought away. Javier was the best midwife in Circle Daybreak, Thierry had said so. Her babies would live.

There was a strange little poem, she thought. It reminded her of former assistant. Or the former life of the former assistant. For amusement's sake, Kyros had told her about Verity's life, and lives. He was funny with his accent, telling such a poignant tale. She read aloud, because poetry was best read aloud. That and dirty jokes.

"Louis MacNeice, what do you have for us today?" Her eyes scanned the window. "Which one… 'Christina.'" Maria looked up to find Ceberus carefully stepping into the room. She smiled for the audience and beckoned him closer.

"All right, Ceberus, listen carefully:

It all began so easy

With bricks upon the floor

Building motley houses

And knocking down your houses

And always building more."

She stopped and tilted her head at Ceberus. The dog did the same. "I see you don't quite get it either," she smiled and patted his head. Continuing:

"The doll was called Christina,

Her under-wear was lace,

She smiled while you dressed her

And when you then undressed her

She kept a smiling face.

All right," Maria nodded firmly, and encouraged the dog to do the same. "Kinky lace under wear. Why did this remind me of Verity?" The dog made a vaguely confused noise.

"Until the day she tumbled

And broke herself in two

And her legs and arms were hollow

And her yellow head was hollow

Behind her eyes of blue.

Wait, wait, wait, Ceberus. You're very stupid for picking this poem, Ceberus. Verity's eyes are green!" The dog frowned at her. "All right, if you insist."

"He went to bed with a lady

Somewhere seen before,

He heard the name Christina

And suddenly saw Christina

Dead on the nursery floor.

Oh, I see. Duh, Ceberus, I told you this related."

Before he could reply, her mid wife walked in and shooed him away. "Maria, I think you are going insane."

"And I think you could be straight. Look, two lies in two seconds. Go us! Seriously, go away, we're finding symbolism here." Javier scowled, and prepared a syringe.

Maria watched his methods with some alarm. "Listen, I know he's a clumsy dog but there's no reason to tranquilize him—"  


Javier clucked his tongue, and with one look silenced her. Since when were witches so intimidating? Maria rolled her eyes, and then snuggled deeper under her blankets when he left. Her laptop proclaimed it was a few minutes until midnight. She wondered why she was so tired just moments after her nap. Her mind could not produce an answer, for she was already drifting off to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Adrian faced the fence before him, and then turned to those who had been stalking him for over an hour. He was sure there wasn't a fence here last year. Wonderful. The dragon species would become even more endangered just because some stupid human wanted to fence off an alley way.

They said some words tauntingly. Amaro couldn't find his own witty reply; he didn't even know Chinese. Four of them, very business like except the leader. Well disciplined, for each stood deathly still, a wound spring waiting for attack. There was always the option of changing, one of the key benefits of being a dragon. But it was one thing to change for the sake of saving face in front of one's soul mate. Quite another to do so for the pitiful excuse of running away.

Besides, they weren't so tough. Or at least he told himself as he squared his shoulders and swaggered closer. He smelled wolf on one of them, and vampire on the rest. He could handle a fair fight, and remain in human form. If they wanted a fair fight.

All four pounced. Adrian successfully blocked the punch of one man, and then landed one of his own. Somebody grabbed his arm as he drew it back, cruelly squeezing a pressure point. Adrian pulled his arm forward, dragging the vampire over his head and into the assassin facing him. Another kicked, with, Adrian believed, no sense of sportsmanship, as the dragon did so, making him land painfully on his back. 

Faking disorientation, he waited until he smelled all four looking down on him. He steeled his forearms on the pavement, for leverage, and swiftly drew both legs up. Success rang with the cracks of two noses. Unfortunately, the other two were not too busy to fall to the ground, holding his arms down. Before he could morph, he paused, surprised to hear the leader speaking. What the hell? If he wanted to chat, all he had to do was ask and bring a translator.

Then Adrian listened closely. The bastard wasn't speaking. He was _chanting_. Adrian struggled, more desperately than before. Amaro knew that spell. He knew those evil, condemning words. They were putting him to sleep. God damn fools were trying to make him dormant again. 

And they anticipated his unwillingness. Even as his arms grew thinner in the blink of an eye, their grip became adequately tighter. Adrian then tried to shift to a bear, their hands simply remained, breaking his bones as they grew larger. Oh god, he didn't want to go to sleep. Not again, not after the hell of waking up. He could not change gears to the think of the next form. The vampire, who Adrian believed to more than simply a vampire, looked down expectantly. If he had more awareness, Amaro would have spit on him. But, already too late.

He closed his eyes, reluctantly, mildly wondering where and when he would awaken.

~*~*~*~

Those slices of death.... How I loathe them." 

Edgar Allen Poe 

Yes I am aware this is a crap chapter. I'm sorry, but I'd still like to know what you think. 


	13. That Girl

****

Deplorably late yet again, and this time I blame…me! Wow, Adelaide E actually taking responsibility for her actions. Stop the presses! Any who, as always, I apologize and you may email me scolding messages as you wish. 

DragonNight: Well, a phrase is a phrase is a phrase. Nope, it does not explain nor reason that part whatsoever, but it's always fun to be purposely redundant! Not true, but something Rik would say to get a rise outta Rita! Thanks for taking the time to read! :0) 

Rayv: Aw, I blush! Thank you for the compliment, and I'm trying not to make it too lovey-dovey, but that non-idiotic heroines comment was very nice! Some people really didn't approve of Rita's boy choice, so I was pleasantly surprised. Thank you!

Taye: Thanks for your review(s!) Here I was thinking ch 12 was craptacular! Here's more (duh, as if you haven't figured it out!) 

Lilith: Short chapters are a pain, and I'm being an arse about them, I know. I can't help it though; the brain just blanks on me sometimes! Any who, this chapter should make you a bit happier!

Nikki: Hiya! I know this isn't ASAP, but I hope you read and review any way (and those "it's great" comments are wonderful!)

Neona-deniker: You have no idea how relieved I was to see your review. I knew you wouldn't be very happy about it, which was why I decided not to request a comment—grieving time, which was something all Jared-lovers needed. I am sorry though, and I'm glad you liked the writing style. And to answer your questions…would you believe that I don't know yet? Wow, it's so easy to lie when typing! Any who, the end is soon and/or distant, depending on one's opinion. Again, not very helpful, is it? Thank you, thank you for reviewing!

Sweetie Pie: For a second there, I actually thought you really felt sorry for him. Any who, I firmly believe in everyone getting their comeuppance. Thanx much. 

Vague Verity

Chapter 13

****

"Unarm, Eros, the long day's task is done,

~*~*~*~

New York

She awoke to the sharp jab in her right arm. Maria's eyes flew open, and she saw Javier injecting something into it. Her regular, beaten twin bed gone; she found that she rested on a taller hospital bed. The curtains drawn, the fluorescent lights above them made her home more impersonal. 

Instinctively, she pulled away. "Stop that," she ordered, disconcerted, and held her arm. "What are you doing? Where's Valdis?"

With surprising strength for such a spindly pansy, he drew her arm back, and emptied the syringe's contents into a vein. "You need this. Valdis is outside."

Why did he look so grim? Maria studied him worriedly as he left the room. Relief came in the form of a red haired soul mate. Her husband walked calmly into the room, and drew up a chair beside her. A small smile rested on his lips, and Maria spied some cigars on his pocket. It wasn't the face of a man who was worried.

"Valdis, what did the she-man just put into my arm?"  


"It was just catalyst," he replied blandly, taking her hand. "You're not exactly on schedule."

Maria frowned, and her gaze shifted from his face to their joined hands. There were no false feelings from his part. She tried to withdraw, but he kept her hands captured. He even smiled when they both heard Sabrina and Javier vying for the clicker.

Maybe there really wasn't anything to worry about. Maria wondered if she had overreacted on the plane. If something dire was to take place, Valdis would not smile as he did now. And she imagined that, should problems arise, Javier would presently tell her, and scold her for the times she had snuck out. And Sabrina…the witch would be in tears. There probably wasn't anything wrong. There was probably was no need of writing a will. 

"But," she couldn't help beginning, "Valdis, my water broke yesterday. Shouldn't they be out by now?"

Valdis smiled again, and clasped both her hands. "You really haven't listened when I've said Eldson babies are—"

"So freakin' strong. Yeah, Valdis I've listened."

He leaned on the edge of the bed. "My oldest brother. Do you know how long it took mother to pop him out?"

Maria shifted, and studied him with renewed interest. He had never spoken about his family before now. "Umm…five hours."  


"Fifteen. Guess how long it took for Fyodor."

Ah, she knew that name. One of their first violent connections showed her the blurred images of people he had killed. His elder brother one of them. Which, Maria justified later on, wasn't so much of a loss.

"Sixteen?"

"Twenty eight. And Alain took thirty four. I, of course, took the cake with seventy hours. Which was why, I suppose, she made sure I was the last baby she had."

Maria eyes widened. "I'm going to be in labour for three days?"

"Not necessarily. Technology's far more advanced these days. I just felt you had a right to know that we Eldson's are…"

"Too god damn stubborn to leave the womb?"

"I was going to say strong, but that'll do."

She pulled her hands away, and smacked his forehead. "Why the hell do they have to be that way?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's just how it's always been with the Eldson boys."

"And what about Eldson girls?" Now Valdis had a look of concentration.

"I don't think there's ever been an Eldson girl," he said aloud thoughtfully. The fact resulted in another smack on the head.

"Stop lying."

"I don't lie."

"Well, tell one now. I don't like being the first one with an Eldson girl."

"I think it's unavoidable. As far as I know, there has been no female born into the family."

"Wonderful. The first female is a product of you and me. More stubborn than all boys put together. Making her twice as smart as the guys. She'll figure out a way to stay inside, evil little—"

"Maria," he chided. Valdis was well aware of his novice at parenthood, but he knew for a fact that mothers-to-be were not supposed to describe their children like one described the Children of the Corn. With a sigh, Maria calmed herself down. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she asked:

"Why am I on a hospital bed?"

"Javier recommended it. He recommended everything else, too. Efficient little man." Maria eyed her husband resentfully. Valdis was not supposed to have an opinion opposite to hers.

"That's a bunch of malarkey," she began when the first contraction crashed down on her.

~*~*~*~

They couldn't have put her here for people to forget. Why would they supply new clothes every so often? Verity had stopped playing for now, and sat huddled on her cot. Over her tropical garments, she wore the coarse sweater and slacks. Verity pulled the blanket up to her neck and drew her knees up to her chest. 

Then her glasses slipped off her nose, and bounced to the floor. Again. Well, that was what she got for chipping off the ends. She had seen the antics of Alcatraz inmates in psychology class. One method of surviving solitary confinement she learned was to toss a button somewhere, and then spend hours looking for it. Seeing that no buttons were available, Rita had chipped the stems of her glasses. Not all that entertaining, but at least she had a goal for long periods at a time.

It was too cold to lean forward and pick them up. There was nothing to see in the dank cell any way. That was the bane above all, because surely sight would have proved useful. Maybe to see how high the ceiling was. Or the condition of the imprisoning bricks. If she concentrated very hard, Verity was sure she could pick at the mortar with the legs of her glasses.

Or she could think of delusional ways of escape. Wonderful. Sixteen years old and turning senile. Of course, there was always that last resort, saved for when she was sure she would die from boredom…

"This is the song that doesn't end. And it goes on and on my friend. Some people sta-arted singing it, not knowing what it was. But they'll continue singing it forever just because…This is the song that doesn't end. And it goes on and on my friend—"

Her head turned sharply. She thought she heard scratching. For several minutes, she sat waiting. 

Nothing. 

Not a single sound, just as it had been since the first day in here. She let out a long breath.

There it was again. A scratch, scratch, scratch. There, on the left wall.

__

Oh goodness. Oh goodness gracious. There were rats. She hadn't seen them before, nor had she heard them. But she knew there'd be rats. It was too good to be true, to be stuck in a rat free prison. But she didn't imagine they'd sound so large…

"Who's there?"

Rats weren't supposed to communicate in an urgent, multi-accented male voice. Sounded young too.

Rita, keeping the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, crawled to the edge of the cot, closer to the wall. More sounds of scraping came. So it definitely wasn't a rat, nor any other creepy crawly. 

"If any body's there…"

"Adrian?" Verity scrambled off the cot. The walls felt cold and rough as she groped her way to the corner. "Adrian," she said again, relieved. "Adrian, I'm trapped in here—"

"So am I," he answered flatly. Her hopes plummeted. "Back up."

She fingered the wall, and found a hole about the size of her hand. "Why?" she asked, confused. It certainly wasn't large enough for him to crawl through.

"So I could shift and then get to your cell. I need room—"

"No!" Rita bit her lip at the volume of her voice. "No," she repeated, calmer. "I don't want you in here."

"Oh, for god's sake, Verity," he began, exasperated. She kneeled so that she was face to face with the hole. Even then, darkness stole any view she might have had of him.

"No," she insisted, "you stay in your own cell. I don't want us in the same room."

"Verity, be reasonable," he implored, his tone softening slightly. "I need to find a way out."

"Find a way out in your own cell."

"And what will you do? Crawl through this crack in the wall to get to it?"

Rita frowned at his logic, and waited for him to continue. 

"And I can't escape from this cell," he admitted grudgingly. "There are…devices, spells to keep me from tunneling up."  


"What makes you think my cell doesn't have them?"

He sighed impatiently, and continued to grate at the opening. "Why waste magic on a whole dungeon when you only need the half done?"

The question threw her off. "What? How do you know?" She felt a light touch on her sleeve and pulled back immediately. Rita watched, curious, and sat on the back of her legs. "Adrian, how do you know?"  


"Because, Verity, every good dragon needs a good dungeon. You need cells for your enemies of the occult, and then cells for the magic impaired. I just wish we were in mine right now. At least then I knew which ones were inescapable." Rita could imagine him grimacing by now.

"But," she protested delicately, "if your cell had been prepared like that, wouldn't mine be also? I mean, like this is the side where the magic was set?"

The scratching stopped. "You're right," he said after some time. "I don't understand why they'd put you on this side…but you're right." Then he asked a very bizarre question. "You haven't been here for a few years, have you?"

"What?"

"I said, you haven't—"  


"I know what you said," she snapped, irritated. "Why on earth would you ask such a stupid question? Of course not."

She sensed his hurt by her comment, and refused to have any qualms by her tone. This was the villainous drug dealer, for goodness sake. She wasn't supposed to feel guilty about any damage done to him. Her feet began to fall asleep, but Rita was reluctant to leave the corner. Communication with something alive was delicious, albeit her odious soul mate.

"Adrian?"

"Yes?" His voice was surprisingly eager. Verity leaned on the wall facing him, contrarily dismal.

"If you can't find a way out, then it's impossible, isn't it?"

On his side of the barrier, Adrian gave a wry smile. Had she that high an opinion of his strength? He wondered. "Not if you're a witch. They know counter spells and such."

She gave a despairing "Oh," and sighed miserably. For a few seconds, she had been so certain she would be freed. If anybody knew about escaping a dungeon, a dragon should. 

"This isn't my cell," he told her, in fear of losing her interest altogether. "Mine is one up and over. I guess to keep us from brainstorming together."

"Much good that would do," she said dolefully. She sighed again, and rose. As she did so, Verity winced at the ache on her knees. Evidently she had been sitting there longer than she thought. After she returned to her cot, Rita tucked herself in tightly. 

"Verity?"

Verity frowned, for she had been about to dream herself to a very warm, tropical climate. "What?"

"They didn't hurt you, did they?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't answer. She hoped he had taken the hint, and left her alone to sleep. Conversation, that seemed to tantalizing a few seconds ago, was bothersome at the moment.

But, being the antagonizing creature he was, Adrian asked, "The men were a bit…rough when they got me. Were they…did they…"

"Why do you ask?"

More sounds of rustling. "Well, when I was scratching through the hole, it sounded like you were moaning in pain or something."

Immediately offended, Verity sat upright. His tone was very innocent, but he already his offensive history against him. She knew she wouldn't win any Grammy awards, but she was certain she wasn't _that_ offensive to the ears.

"No," she snapped. "And what would you do if they were less than gentle? Write a very harsh letter and slip it under the door?"

"I was just making sure—"

"Well stop it. I'm trying to sleep."

As she expected, he had run out of patience. "I don't see why you need to be so grumpy…other than the obvious."

"And I don't see why you just can't let me sleep," she retorted angrily. 

"I can help you if you are hurt," he protested, his voice raising.

Her volume matched his. "Give it up, Amaro. You couldn't protect me before, you can't now. Just let me sleep!"  


When he complied, and she felt his presence become distant, Verity felt the strangest feeling of disappointment wash over her. 

~*~*~*~

New York

Oh no. She was dead. Maria knew that if one was floating over oneself, and that others were crying or screaming frantically below, one was dead. Simple as that. Poor Valdis, who was weeping softly. Maria, Maria, Maria, Maria…

"Maria!"

Eye lids fluttering open, she found herself into blue green eyes. Beyond them stood a paper screen, blocking her view from the rest of her body.

"I fell asleep _again_?"

Valdis eased away from her. "Sort of…funny reaction to the catalyst and stress."

"Hilarious, I'm sure," she replied and glanced at her alarm clock. By now, she had been in labor for almost twenty hours.

"You had a nightmare," he continued, anxious to distract her from the passing time. 

Tearing her eyes from the glaring red numbers, she faced him. Her soul mate appeared worried, just as he had in her dream. She smiled, and hoped she did not betray her fretful feelings. "I dreamt Yankees lost in a subway series."

To her immense relief, he laughed. She did not notice him beckoning someone from the door as she tidied her hair.

"Valdis, we can't have me sleeping every five minutes. It's embarrassing."

"Hey now," a new voice protested, "don't knock sleeping. As the good book says, Thou shalt not…um…" Maria heard a female laugh. "Knock sleeping," the boy finished lamely. For a few minutes, Maria sat flabbergasted when Ash's grinning face rose from behind the screen.

"The book of Moron," the girl chimed in.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she exclaimed, eyes wide with alarm. Her surprise increased tenfold when Mary Lynette appeared beside him. The bed ridden girl was obviously appalled by the sight of both of them. "What the hell are both of you doing here?"

Valdis colored slightly by the unreceptive behavior of his wife. "They came to visit," he answered in what he hoped to be a soothing tone, and gave an apologetic smile to his friend. Ash merely rolled his eyes.

Maria's eyes slid to him, the pools of brown bubbling towards irrational anger. "Now of all times? When my contractions are—where the _hell_ are my contractions?" It wasn't so much that she missed the patterned moments of excruciating pain, but she knew they were essential to make the little buggers leave her stomach. Valdis appeared to brace himself, and Maria interrupted. "Wait, make the intruders leave the room."

"Maria!"

"I don't care. If you say anything about my anatomy, they're not going to hear it."

"Amen to that," Ash added as he was towed out of the room.

"This screen isn't for snuff films, is it?" The absence of the contractions was forgotten, because she was sure some disappointing explanation for it. Maria had never found medical dilemmas very amusing. In fact, she had been very close to cringing from Valdis's grave expression until he opened his mouth. He stumbled, stammered, and staggered through his explanation. The technical problems had been named in everything but the precise terms. Valdis nearly bolted out of his skin when she supplied the medical name for "that part" of her body.

"Oh, for god's sake Maria, don't say it like that!"

"But that's what it's called!" There were some more clumsy words, again missing the correct terms. His nervousness pulled at the corners of her mouth. She managed to withhold her laughter, and get the gist of his explanation. She was too narrow at "that part," which Maria accepted as her pelvic region and "certain things" were not dilating as planned, leaving a cesarean, and other drug induced reactions, mandatory. 

Then all humor left Maria's countenance. "You are going to _cut_ me _open_ in my boudoir?"

"Not me personally…"

"Valdis, I've been cut open in the stomach. It's not fun. And we can't go to a hospital?"  


"Javier said that travel might cause further pain, or more complications, as it is,…"

"Damn Javier, he's just a midwife! Don't I get a say in my own life?"

"Hey, you rhymed—"

"Valdis." Her tone was menacing, and, if he were a man of lesser substance, her gaze would have scorched him to a mere black spot on the carpet. "I do not approve of surgery in a home. I need professional, I need a sanitary hospital room, I need…wider hips!"

"I don't see what we could do about any of those…maybe eat more after the operation…"

"And what about the crazy gas?"

"Javier suggested them. He said…"

Maria stopped listening then. _Stinky little man_, she thought, with Javier in mind. Although she did not completely love her twins, to say the least, she knew didn't want to be hooted up on fun-fun gas when they finally came out. Maria also knew that any lack of consciousness did not mean the operation wouldn't upset her nonexistent heart problem. 

Then her husband looked towards the door again, and Maria heard a brisk trot, signaling the entrance of the much loathed midwife. 

"All right," Javier started, his voice business-like, "lover boy, out of the room."

"Don't you talk dirty to my husband," Maria lashed out, her rudeness heightened by the drawing operation. She hadn't foreseen the proximity of the ordeal, for Valdis had made it sound at least a few hours away. It was not always pleasant to hear, after a few minutes since awakening, that one was being put to half sleep and being cut open.

Valdis observed her stricken face, and squeezed her hand comfortingly. "It will be all right."

"But Valdis, I don't have a good feeling about this," she told him, her voice more reserved due to the unwanted company in the room. More strangers entered, and Maria feigned interest as Javier introduced the assistants. It was only when they busied themselves with the equipment that she turned to her husband, and asked scathingly, "And where on earth did these bums come from?"

"Maria, they flew from all over the country, by Thierry's special request. Try not to annoy them."

"Of course she won't," they both heard Javier mutter under his breath, "right after I stop smoking." And all occupants knew that the disgruntled midwife was a faithful chimney.

"Valdis, the man is going to murder me," she pleaded desperately, clinging desperately to his hand. "Can't you stay?"

Even as she asked it, her soul mate was rising from her bedside. It happened on television often enough; a husband was supposed to stay and feel all the grievances of childbirth through the physical and verbal abuse of his wife. He had to have some pain while in the family way, after all.

Her husband gave a drawn out "well" and smiled apologetically. "It's been unanimously decided that, under the circumstances, my knee jerk reactions will override any common sense for your part."

"Meaning?"

"One moan of pain from you, or so much a flinch…a nurse might go flying out the window. And we are four stories up."

"That does make sense," Maria admitted, but refused to relinquish his hand. "My professor never came back after you…met him. But, Valdis—" There was no point. She knew that the instant her eyes met his, and she saw the unwavering faith in the ordeal. Her soul mate believed, despite circumstances, that all would end well. And, at the moment, she was too fatigued to disturb his sweet naïveté. Giving one last squeeze, she let go of her second to last comfort and watched Valdis agitatedly exit the room. The very last comfort was that she would be conscious enough to glare at her midwife during the operation.

When Valdis emerged from the room, he saw Sabrina nervously standing in the living room, Ash sitting across from her, trying miserably to control a smirk, and Mary Lynnette sending an intrepid scowl to both of them. When they observed the new presence, Sabrina was the first to speak.

"How was I supposed to know they were soul mates?"

"Even if we weren't," Mary Lynnette cut in icily, "it's still horrible to hit on somebody's boyfriend while she's in the bathroom. Not to mention distasteful. And slutty—"

"Hey, boyfriend-ship isn't binding or anything," Sabrina pointed out stubbornly.

"It was only dinner she offered," Ash added, still smiling. 

"And it would have led to more if the little she-devil got her way," Mary Lynnette stated, with a steely gaze towards the witch. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

The witch was ready to state her right to stay and comfort her friend when Ash interrupted with, "She could always go to the Snows. Mrs. Snow told me to tell Valdis that either we go get the home baked cookies, or she's coming over herself." Valdis gave a look of apprehension. "That's what I thought. She gave a thirty minute window so…"

"Fine, I see where I'm not wanted," Sabrina huffed and grabbed her purse. 

"Then why are you still in this country?" Mary Lynnette asked sweetly as the witch breezed out the door. 

"Are you gonna be okay?" Mary Lynnette asked Valdis curiously. "With Maria bein' in the other room…cut open and everything?"

"Wonderful way of putting it," Ash commented dryly. "Of course he's gonna be okay. Eldson men are incredibly—"

"Strong," Mary Lynnette finished as she joined her soul mate on the sofa. "I'm with Maria on that—the phrase is getting over used. It's not like Valdis is some sorta Hercules or anything."

"No," the father to be admitted. "But we're durable. We're like an Austin Powers villains. Takes a lot to kill us. And—"

"You're rambling now. Just relax, Valdis. Me and Ash rented a movie."

The news did little to relax him, but he joined the couple any way. "What did you rent…Pride and Prejudice?" The title was said with some incredulity directed to Ash. "You agreed to a British romantic period piece? Do you have any testosterone in you at all? Oh, for god's sake, it starts with lace…"  


Ash simply smiled, undisturbed by his friend's complaints. 

~*~*~*~

The fact of him was driving her crazy. His being there, just simply sitting a room and up away, made Verity wring her hands. And he seemed content to sit in silence. She, however, was trying mightily to squash an inner battle: to talk, or not to talk? That was the question. So she tried to review. 

He was a murderer. He was callous, and selfish, and down right inconsiderate. Although he technically did not carry out the deed, he was fully prepared to slay hundreds of people. He had almost murdered, twice, Jared. He was indirectly responsible for Melissa. And, worst of all, Adrian thought himself blameless on all accounts. 

She was not supposed to _want_ to talk to him. 

He solved the problem however, despite her caveats to leave her in peace. Not a conversation really, just a simple, "Have you any clue as to why we are here?" From the volume of his voice, she sensed he was back at the little hole in the wall. Verity nearly shook her head and then wondered the purpose of that in the complete darkness. Then she pondered the extent of his vision, and if he had the advantage of seeing her when she could see nothing…

"Verity?"

She had zoned out. Verity pinched herself. She never zoned out. "At first I thought it was you…but you're here…so that ruins it."

"Won't your husband come searching for you?"

Rita chewed at her bottom lip. "How did you know…"

"The whole Night World heard of Councilman Smith's traitorous son. Won't he come look for you?" Adrian repeated.

"No."

"Well why not?"

"Because he's dead," Verity answered flatly. "Will any one come looking for you?"

"No."

"Well why not?" she mimicked his frustrated tone.

"Because every body who would care is dead," he answered, obviously agitated. "Why is it that you reserve all animosity for your soul mate?"

"Because you've done the most damage," she retorted, wondering why she ever wanted to speak to such a man. 

"I have not." Verity, always the one to be the "bigger person" and leave things as is, did not respond in hopes of avoiding it altogether. He, of course, was contrary. "And how was traveling the world? Met and surpassed all expectations?"

In a strange moment of exhaustion that simply refused to muster enough energy to snap rudely, Rita merely sighed, "People say traveling the world as if it's wonderful. But…it really wasn't."

"Maybe you traveled with the wrong person?" he answered thoughtfully. Adrian's cautious words, Rita guessed, referred to himself. But the only man she could conjure as the "right" person was…

"Maybe. I'd rather not speak of it," she dismissed him lightly. "And I'm tired right now, so go away."

"Right, I'll just step outside." His tone was acidic, and caused Rita to frown. "Look, we've nothing to do, we might as well try and get that chip off your shoulder."

There was a tense pause before Rita asked, "Where does that phrase come from?"

"Dunno really…but stop sidetracking. You've said so yourself that my treatment to little Tana doesn't really bother you."

"We're most likely going to die here, so what's the point in reconciliation?" Her flippant voice did not reflect the gnawing uneasiness she felt inside.

"I'd rather not die having my soul mate hate me for no good reason."

"No doubt there are hordes of people who hate you, Adrian Amaro. What difference does one more make?"

"A world of difference if that 'one more' is my soul mate."

"Have you reached that mid-life crisis already, and trying to make everybody like you? I don't know what that would be in dragon years…"

"Forget it," he replied brusquely. "Every answer I'd get would probably be evasive any way."

Rita knew it was a purposely provocative statement, but nevertheless she took the bait. "What do you mean by that?"

"Simple," he responded instantly. "Knowing that, in true light, I have the least blame for this mess, you'd rather answer in half truths and almost lies to make me the villain and you damsel in distress."

"I certainly would not paint myself as the damsel in distress!"

"No?"

"No. For instance, rarely do damsels in distress feel the urge to scratch the villain's eyes out. They're too busy being distressed."

"I'm willing to risk it if you let me in your cell."

She wished somebody would smite the man. Or strike him with lightning. Cause a random, isolated earthquake in just his cell. But not kill him, of course, because considering the past year, Verity refused to take death lightly.

It appeared to Rita that her soul mate always had a sly way to make himself sound so darn reasonable. She couldn't produce another threatening quip, she remained silent. He, naturally, continued.

"Let's play a game." The suggestion momentarily stunned Verity, for she hadn't pictured her serious dragon to enjoy little frivolities. The Adrian she remembered hardly ever smiled.

"Unless it involves your mouth being sewed shut, I'm not interested."

"You get to ask me whatever you want. And I'll answer as truthfully as possible."

There had to be a catch, Verity knew it. "And…?"

"I get to ask whatever I want. And you answer as truthfully as possible. An exchange of facts, if you will."

"No!" Her answer was immediate and instinctive. Verity prided herself on privacy. It didn't matter so much if she shared her history with a temporary visitor, or a childhood friend. But this was different, because not only was he a virtual stranger, he was her soul mate. She was sure he would use any information against her. Verity didn't know why she believed that, but she simply did. To leave herself that vulnerable…it was unimaginable.

"Why not?"

"Because…"

"You're scared," he goaded. "You know I'm right."

Rita's features darkened. "You're wrong. I just don't care about you," she said in a clipped, hard voice.

"Not even curious, _Verity_?"

The emphasis of her name was a cheap shot if she ever heard one. He might as well have brandished the Ten Commandments before her. Knowing her previous policy of honesty, she admitted grudgingly, "Only mildly."

"And even the mildest curiosities are irritating."  


Rita gave an exaggerated sigh. Besides, it didn't even sound like game. More like martial diplomacy. "If, and I mean _if_, we do play, how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"How do I know you'll do the same?" he returned challengingly.

"Fine, we'll swear on something."

"Family?"

"I figured something like you hatched out of an egg."

"Try to lower your pistols for something as serious as this, Verity," Adrian admonished gravely. Verity grabbed her blanket and shuffled closer to the corner. His reply made her bite her tongue. She wished she could tell him she wasn't usually this uncooperative, that she was only this way with him. But that, probably, wouldn't have made him feel any better.

"Fine," came out of her mouth, instead of an apology. "We both swear on family."

"Want to shake on it?" Her soul mate sounded pitifully hopeful.

"Don't push it," she warned, then, when he didn't fill the silence, she asked, "Who goes first?"

"Me."

"Why do you get to go first?" Even to her own ears, Verity thought she was being childish.

"Because I thought of it," he answered, incorrigibly reasonable. "And remember, you must answer truthfully. Hmm…where to begin?"

"How about the beginning?" she suggested bitingly. He seemed to take entirely too much pleasure in making her squirm. 

"All right," he accepted amiably. Unfortunately for Verity, he took her word literally. "The beginning of this mess…why do you so obviously hold a grudge about my visits to England when you were getting _riding_ lessons from the stable boy?"

Although she didn't take lightly…that emphasis caused Rita to think that, perhaps, Adrian _did_ deserve to die. A very painful, slow, agonizing…

"Well?" he prompted. 

~*~*~*~

Javier told her, ever so tritely, to count backwards from a hundred. She didn't get as far as ninety five before she forgot the rest of the numbers. The room pleasantly blurred, but the general shapes of people and objects Maria could still identify. As much as she feared it, Maria didn't even know the occupants were studying her innards until Javier moved, and revealed a bloody, gloved hand. Her eyes focused slightly on one large, squarish machine directly adjacent to her bed. That hadn't been there before.

__

I know what that is, she thought dreamily. _They have it on all the tv shows, when a patient goes flat line and then they put jelly on the handle bar things and rub it together and then they send electricity_…Maria's eyebrows drew together, and she chewed the inside of her cheek in puzzlement. Valdis wouldn't have been so confident if he had seen that. 

Then she wondered the reason of its being there. To scare the daylights out of her? Not likely, as her bed room was as crowded already. But it couldn't have been for the operation, she rationalized silently. Maria knew that Javier, as experienced as he was, couldn't very well send detrimental volts through her body without shocking her children. 

__

Which is why you're not supposed to think about that now, her mind told her. Maria's eyes widened in surprise. That part of her subconscious had been blessedly silent, and usually harshly critical of her actions. Maria had never been soothing to herself.

__

Don't focus on that, the voice of reason continued_. If you get cardiac arrest, they can't help you right away. They have to help the twins. You might die._

So it had lost its criticisms and sarcasm. The last three words sounded too foreboding for her liking. Maria still didn't appreciate the pessimism. She dismissed the saturnine suggestion with a shake of her head. The paper cap one nurse placed on her head scraped audibly against her pillow. That stupid voice, with its stupid finality, was to be ignored. She chose instead to listen to the high pitched beeps that echoed calmly against the walls. To fit a song with its rhythm would have been fun, but the sounds refused to hold a steady beat. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast, sometimes normal…

__

That's your heart you idiot. Didn't I tell you not to think of that? Didn't I?

__

You're not the boss of me, Maria shot back, and then wondered just how much truth was in that statement. Voices in her head weren't separate beings, but more like her personal coworkers.

__

Shut up. You keep making yourself nervous, you have to leave Valdis. Forever.

The threat was brutally effective. She was sure her inner voice was simply being dramatic, but focused on the tranquil, white ceiling above her. 

Whatever Javier had given her was lovely, or so Maria believed. She wondered if it, whatever it was, came in chewable tablets. It would have been wonderful if there was a cherry flavored miracle drug…

__

Jesus please us, what was that? Maria thought, slightly panicked. She knew it wasn't wise to become so jittery, but the loud, infant cry startled her. 

__

That's just a baby. Calm yourself down.

But she couldn't. Now when it was crying so desperately, and sounded so vulnerable. The beeps, now strangely distant, became warbled in her ears. 

__

Oh no, she wanted to cry out. _Give it to me._ But the words couldn't find their way to her lips, and even her eyelids seemed heavy and clumsy. The only things that worked properly were her ears. And she could hear everything, every little hurtful thing. It let out another pained shriek, and Maria then heard a gurgled sound. Like a cough.

__

Give it to me. Without quite knowing it, she had let tears stream down her face. Irrational, she shifted, just her shoulders. But it was enough for Javier to glance at her, genuine concern etched in his eyes. Maria didn't notice him. She only noticed the terrible screams filling the room, and then a second joined it.

Blood pounded in her ears. She felt as if all the problems she had been having had manifested into one large heavy bulk, sitting inconveniently on her chest. But the infants would help her with that. She wanted her babies, she needed them desperately. 

__

Somebody give me my babies. They're choking, they're coughing…

Other raised voices joined her infants' cries, and Maria's mind barely registered the swift movements of those around her. They didn't understand. They only heard the irregular beeps. They hadn't heard the babies crying out for their mother. All Maria needed was her babies, and then they'd see. Then they'd see that she'd be fine, as long as they gave her the babies.

Then, for a fraction of a second, Maria craned her neck high enough over the screen, just when awful hands were pushing her down. It was a little girl. She had stopped crying. She was sleeping with enviable peace, with wispy hair peeping out of the blanket.

__

Oh, Maria realized as darkness clouded her vision, _she's not evil. She's not a damned thing._

~*~*~*~

****

And we must sleep."

Shakespeare

SES

R H

O O

H E For luck. 

Not too bad, I hope? Please review! 


	14. Seeking Truth?

****

Skylark: Since you asked so nicely, I'll give you more. And, goodness gracious, y'all stop asking me not to kill people! I'll just say that the people who have to die, will die. Gee I hope that wasn't a downer.

Nikki: I'm glad it's up to "usual." But I don't think this was soon enough for some people.

Lilith: I'm glad you liked it, of course I couldn't let Adrian stay asleep. And, as they say, the dungeon is always a good place to work out relationship problems…or maybe I just made that up!

Zabella: well, that was enthusiastic! I've never gotten a ye-haw before! So, here's more.

Amy: hee, hee, hee, you're so funny! Maria is pretty mean most of the time, but, as they've stated, she does have her random times of kindness. And, besides, valdis isn't any prince charming either. Why a shovel? Any who, thanks for the encouragement, oh and it is a bit weird and very impossible for you to be valdis! 

Fin: Hiya. I always like to reach the rating of wicked good, so all is well. And, fin, you really oughta notice my story patterns by now…I can't promise not to kill any one, but I'll promise not to kill any one for no reason.

Vague Verity

Chapter 14

****

"Show me what it's for  
Make me understand it

~*~*~*~

Verity sat on her cot, aghast. For a few seconds, she wasn't sure if he really asked that. That is until she heard the question repeated, with the same sort of irritating flippancy. Eyebrows furrowed, she drew determinedly closer to her soul mate.

"Contrary to ignorant belief, Jorge was a gentleman. Nothing happened."

"Rita," he complained, "we agreed to tell the truth."

"Yes we did. So to answer your question: It is natural, and completely justifiable, for a woman to hold a grudge against her ex husband, who so wrongly accuses her of infidelity when he himself had monthly randy-vous in England." 

"So…" he began slowly, cautiously, "you didn't cheat on me?"

"Tana and I are two separate people—"

"You might as well let her be you and you be her," he snapped, deeply irritated, and embarrassed. "It's too exasperating to change pronouns for the same person."  


"Fine," she retorted, equally annoyed. "Jorge and she—I mean, I only had two kisses. But wait, this isn't fair!" He didn't answer. "Adrian, I said this isn't fair." Again, nothing but silence accepted her words. "Adrian?"

"Hold on," he replied curtly. Sitting against the wall, he roughly banged his head against it, eyes squeezed tight although there was nothing to see. Rita jumped at the sudden thump, and wondered at the cause.

"Adrian?"

Adrian hated it when Tana would show up at the most inconvenient. Damn, irritating flashbacks. He wondered if Rita ever had to worry about those.

Not events really. Just vignettes of her, doing nothing but being herself. He clenched his jaw, turning away from a face that was not there. Her frowning in confusion. His hands fisted at his temples. Her questioning eyes. He had made so many implications, only to be met with innocent puzzlement. He had done so many things, based on that one belief. He smiled wryly when Verity asked him if he was all right. Was he hurt? Adrian wanted to call back that she shouldn't care. 

"It's my turn," she said firmly not wanting to let him be the only one to land a barb. His question, and then his ensuing silence, had made her more than irked with the man. She had shown compassion for goodness' sake. And for her generous and very much misplaced concern, he offered rudeness in return. All Verity could think of was retaliation. "Just how stupid do you feel now that you know the truth?"

His only reply was a hoarse "Very." Then she heard him rise and dust himself off.

"Are you leaving?" she asked worriedly. Which was absurd, she later realized, for it wasn't as if he could leave her.

"Yes," he answered brusquely, and then said in a softer voice, "I don't feel well. We'll continue later, all right?"

"All right," she agreed uncertainly, feeling ridiculous for the sinking guilt in her stomach. He was the one who struck a sore spot first. She was only responding. There was no reason to be sorry. Verity shivered, and realized she had been sitting on the floor, in front of the hole, for some time. The hiatus of the game disappointed her, but at least she'd have time to sleep. And, most importantly, dream.

~*~*~*~

New York

It hurt so much to open her eyes. Not physically. Maria was frightened to the point of mental anguish to see what awaited on the other side of her eyelids. If it was a bright light at the end of a tunnel, she was determined to hightail the other direction. 

But she knew she wasn't dead, or at least in Purgatory, when she heard familiar, irritating chatter. Male, inconsiderate, oozing with confidence…a Redfern. Warily, she opened her eyes half way. She was in her room, which was dark save for a night lamp plugged into the electrical socket in the corner.

Ash didn't skip a beat at the awakening of his listener. "…so you have to go and have a heart attack, as if two babies aren't enough? What, wanted to go out with a bang or somethin'?"

Summoning all her strength, which felt pitifully lacking, Maria croaked, "Hardly, since bangin' got me in this mess in the first place."  


Ash smiled, and handed her a glass of clear liquid. Maria eyed it hopefully. "Water," he said, as if it was obvious. Maria frowned, and the boy continued. "You know, H two O. Agua. L'eau. Blank, blank every where, and not a drop to drink…"

"I'd appreciate something to raise the spirits," she cut in, and handed back the beverage. Ash frowned and looked around for options.

"We've got apple—"

"Martinis?"

"Juice," he finished flatly. "Coffee…"

"Irish?"

"No, and I don't think Valdis would approve. And in the kitchen, Sabrina bought orange juice."  


"Irish orange juice?"

"Never heard of it…Wait here."

Maria watched disdainfully as he left the room. The entire apartment sounded peaceful. "Oh no," Maria protested bitingly, "I meant to jog to the mall and maybe drive up to Vermont while I'm bed ridden…oh."

Ash returned, tenderly holding a bundle of blankets. Mari watched, partly mesmerized, and partly worried that the stupid brute was holding her off spring, as he drew nearer. She struggled to sit up, which was surprisingly difficult. Everything ached, especially her chest, and there were many tubes to think of. She managed just as Ash lowered the precious thing into her arms. In the middle of the cloth lay a sleeping, pudgy baby. It slept peacefully, and Maria wondered at how small everything was. Such a small mouth, such a small nose, the finest eyelashes she had ever seen…

"Beautiful," Maria breathed.

"Nah," Ash yawned. "Nothing compared to the babies Mare'll pop out when we're married."

"Mary Lynnette's very pretty," Maria conceded, and then winked with mischief. "But, now Ash, we both know in our hearts, that _our_ children would have been super models."

"Hell yeah I know," Ash said nonchalantly. "But would they survive your beatings?"

"Or the starvation caused by their father's constant slumber?" Bored by the conversation, she looked down again to the newborn. 

"Lordy," she exclaimed immediately, and the baby awakened. "It's blonde!"

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Ash retorted defensively, vainly running his hand through his own hair. Maria studied the infant, wondering why it wasn't crying. From what she knew, babies always cried.

"But I'm not blonde, and Valdis isn't…"

"Oh, yeah he was," Ash corrected her, pushing her legs aside to sit on the bed. Maria thought her husband left her a very poor nurse. "I remember. He was yellow haired, like his mom, and then it changed to that fairy color it is now."

"I would hit you for that, but I'm so tired," she yawned, easing herself back with the baby. "This is a girl?"

"Nah, we just figured we'd bundle him in a pink blanket for fun," he replied, calmly caustic. "What will you name her?"

"I've always thought Ash was a nice name," she said aloud thoughtfully. Ash waited patiently for the punch line, but sat astounded into a short silence when Maria shook her head. "But, no, she's a girl."

"You have a boy," the vampire volunteered eagerly. For a split second, she smiled with faint hope, but laughed. 

"I don't think Valdis would allow it. Oh well," Maria shrugged, and winced at the effort. "How old is she?"

"A few days. Valdis knew if he named them without you, you'd probably throw him through the wall or something."

"Don't be silly. That would ruin the wall. Where is everybody?"

"Sleeping. It's three a.m."

Her eyes widened. Ash Redfern up before the noon sun. Who woulda thunk? "Why are _you_ up?"

"Baby and Maria duty."

"Oh."

"How are you feeling?" he finally asked, after a lengthy silence of watching the baby fall into slumber. Maria rolled her eyes.

"My left boob hurts," she said frankly. Ash laughed, guessing she meant her heart, and felt a sharp sting on his forehead. "You woke up the baby."

"She doesn't cry any way. I know," he said, seeing her eyebrows raise in surprise, "we all figured a product of yours would scream her head off."

"Where's the other one?" she queried, nervously relinquishing the girl to the capable arms of the Redfern. Maria noticed the slightest hesitation on Ash's part.

"Sleeping."

"Where?"

"Over there," he answered shortly, making a vague gesture towards the door.

"Can I see him?"

"No."

"Why not?"  


Ash appeared to be at a loss for a words, especially at Maria's fretting tone. "He's safe, Maria. Don't get worried or anything."

"How can I not get worried when you're keeping my baby away from me?" she responded bitingly.

"Shut up," he ordered imperiously. "Valdis says you're not supposed to get worked up."

"You shut up. I want my baby."

"Well, I can't give him to you!"

"Yes you can, you just won't!"

"Stop being so stubborn!" Maria crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out.

"Ahem." Maria and Ash were silenced by the stern voice of her soul mate. She had never seen him so serious, or so displeased. With one look, Ash grimaced apologetically and left the room. Normally, she would have been happy to see Valdis. But this time he didn't smile, or ask her how she was, or look at her fondly. He stood at the foot of the bed, staring at her with an impersonal gaze.

"Valdis?" She squirmed, and she felt as if she were under the scrutiny of a stranger, not her soul mate. He didn't say anything. He just smiled a smile that didn't reflect in his eyes. In the same, detached manner he arranged her pillows, and tucked her in tightly. Up close, Maria tried to make him see her. And for a split second, he did.

He wasn't impersonal, she realized when he turned away sharply. He was holding it in. There was the briefest flicker of sadness in his eyes that caused a lump in her throat. Maria didn't bother to say anything as he left the room, for the silence seemed to tell all. Ash entered a few minutes later, and stationed himself in the chair next to her.

"Ash?" she asked softly, surprising him. Maria's eyes were closed the last time he checked. "I'm not getting better, am I?"

"Oh, come on! Has television taught you anything? Touched by an Angel, Highway to Heaven, ER…people get better when everybody else thinks they won't get better. It's a proven fact."

"People die on ER," she pointed out gently.

He rubbed his chin, pondering it. "But the really pretty people don't. And I've heard some say you're quite a looker."

She smiled wanly. "Looker or hooker?"

"Sometimes both," he supplied playfully. "Why? Did Valdis say anything?"

Maria shook her head and she swallowed the ache in her throat. "Not a damn thing. Can't they take a vein out of my leg and do a bypass thingy?"

"It's risky," he told her seriously, chin resting on her bed rail. "Especially with a little thing like you. Shrimp."

"Ass."

"Hey, didn't I tell you the rules of insults? With a light name like 'shrimp,' you do not retaliate with the higher insult of 'ass.' There are _rules_, Maria!" 

"Screw your rules. How is everybody?"

"Don't you think you should sleep?" She shook a negative, and Ash didn't bother to try and persuade her. "In all honesty, it's been like a morgue around here," he informed her in a whisper. His flashing eyes darted to the door, in fear of being caught. "I'm not supposed to tell you, but everybody thought you'd die. You slept for such a long time."  


Maria's eyes widened briefly. "Did they do that buzz thing like they do in ER?"

Ash grinned. "Yeah. The electricity went out in the whole complex for a half in hour."

"Aw. I missed it."

"Well, duh. They were using it on you, and all."

"Has Mare and Sabrina been getting along?"

"Yeah, just like you and Keller." They laughed, quietly so nobody else would be bothered. Both wondered how they could be so lighthearted when one's diagnosis was so bleak.

"You can go look after the babies," she said quietly after some conversation. Valdis and his sad eyes had been invading her thoughts more and more as the morning progressed. "Just give me some paper and a pen before you go." After some persuasion and threatening scowls, Ash relented. She promised to feign sleep if somebody else checked in.

Well, she had known the truth. She had known way before any of them. There was no reason to be sad now, after preparing for it emotionally. But all Maria could do was stare at the blank note pad, tears welling in her eyes. Angrily, she brushed them away. She hoped by that, come dawn, nobody would make a fuss over her waking up. 

~*~*~*~

Verity was resentful when he had awoken her. She had dreamt she was back in Moorea, without Bryan. The sun light bathed her generously, and the water was the perfect temperature. Then he had to go call her name, threatening to enter the cell if she didn't answer.

"What is it?" she asked quickly, obviously fearful of his entry.

"I'm resuming the game," he answered quickly, urgently. "What do you miss most?"

"What?" Flustered by sleep and his question, she wasn't swift to comprehend.

"What do you miss most, from the outside world, I mean."

"Oh, Adrian, I don't know," she said tiredly, settling back on her cot.

"There must be something," he persisted.

Verity lay for a while, scraping for a satisfactory answer. She very much wanted to go to sleep, and return to the island paradise. There was nobody in particular she wanted to see again. No certain food items she craved. No games or appliances she desired. Then the answer was so sparklingly simple that Verity smiled.

"Light," she finally answered with a wistful sigh.

"What?" he asked surprise, as if snapped from a stupor.

"Light," she repeated, tossing on her side, facing the wall. "I guess it's easy for you, a dragon, to see things. But you haven't noticed how dark it is in here, have you?"

"No, I haven't," he agreed, looking around. He saw everything perfectly, from the old hay on the floor to the magical words etched into the bricks. 

"There isn't an atom of light," she told him. "Everywhere in the room looks the same to me; just utter blackness."

"Is that why you sleep?"

"That's two questions," she pointed out, and yawned.

"Fine then, ask yours," he ordered impatiently.

"I don't want to," she murmured and snuggled deeper under her blanket. "Later." Verity was ready debate heatedly if he refused. After all, he had been allowed to end the game at his leisure.   


She heard him sigh and dust himself off again. "All right."  


~*~*~*~

Word traveled surprisingly fast among Circle Daybreak. It was a little past noon when the first phone call came.

Maria and Valdis sat in her bedroom, quibbling over baby names, when Sabrina sailed in, cordless phone in hand. Cheerfully, she handed it to the waiting mother after chatting on it for several minutes.

"Who is it?" Maria asked as the witch left the room. Sabrina shrugged. "Hello?"

"Hello," the boy responded amiably.

"Who is this?"

"A Knight who says Nee."

Maria then muttered an obscenity that made Valdis's ears red, and ended the call. A few seconds later, it rang again. "Who is it?" she snapped when she answered.

"An African swallow."

"Do you have an African swallow, Del?"

"Nonsense," the prince replied. "Where would I put it?"

"I have a suggestion—" Maria said bitingly.

"Hi, this is Maggie," the girl laughed cheerfully. "Sorry about that, Delos was only supposed to dial."

"What do you want?" Normally, the two girls were somewhat friendly towards each other. Maria's rudeness surprised her.

"To talk."

"Well, I don't want to." Valdis, finally taking matters into his own hands, tore the phone away from his soul mate's ear.

Still silently boiling from their name debate, Maria sat, arms crossed, as her soul mate conversed with the girlfriend of one of her greatest enemies.

"Hello, this is Valdis…she's…fine, I guess." Valdis gave her a funny look then, and Maria looked away. "Don't worry about that, she's just grumpy. She just woke up and, somehow, we were discussing baby names…No, I don't think she'd tolerate a child named Delos…How's your summer?" 

Maria tuned out the rest of the conversation and took the note pad from her husband's hands. The letters she had written earlier that morning were hidden, safely under her pillow. Now, she viciously crossed out all the suggestions Valdis wrote, most of which included his brothers, fathers, and cousins' names.

Her ears perked up when she heard him say, unsure, "Well, of course you're always welcome…" Her eyes flamed dangerously and she shook her head at her husband. "There isn't much room, though…" Maria mouthed an urgent "no" at him, hoping he'd comply. "There are two places on this story, though, that's available. I'm sure you could persuade the landlord to let you stay."

"What was that sound?" Maggie asked.

"Maria just threw the note pad at my head," he said, laughing. Maria glared, and slowly scooted closer to put her ear to the phone. Valdis leaned in, saving her the trouble.

"Oh? Does that mean she doesn't want us to visit?" Maria nodded, but Valdis's hand on her mouth prevented a verbal confirmation.

"Of course not. There was a bug on me…Tomorrow? Sure. I'll email the address."

"You idiot," Maria blazed as soon as he ended the call. "You expect me to relax with his royal highness around? Making asinine jokes? Being…himself? Maggie's fine, but Delos Redfern, good lord…" In her anger, she distractedly allowed Valdis to lower the bed to a completely horizontal position. She continued in her critique of the former wild power as he drew the curtains, cloaking the room in semi-darkness. When she ran out of abusive adjectives, Maria realized he meant to leave her.

"Wait," she called just as he was near closing the door. "What about the babies?"

"What about them?"

"I win," she stated simply. "The girl's name is Gwendolyn Hannah, and the boy Valdis Kyros. Got it?"

"I'll go with Gwen's name," he agreed as he turned off the light. "But there is no way in hell my son's name is going to be Kyros. We'll discuss this later."

Maria stared at the door unhappily, ready to be bored out of her mind. She never could sleep when Valdis told her to, and did so only between meals. Then she realized Valdis had made one mistake; he left the phone. There was, of course, no ordering of pizza or Chinese, for the heartless baby sitters would intercept that. 

Quickly she dialed the number. 

"Hello?"

"Hi," she answered brightly. "Kyros, my best friend in the whole wide world…"

"Do you think I'm an idiot? I'd rather not lose a limb just to sneak you food."

"I'll give you a kiss…"

"No," he said firmly. Then, "How long a kiss?"

Then Maria laughed, knowing she couldn't kiss another man without crying from the guilt. "Scratch the kiss."

"Then no food."

"I'm campaigning to have my son named after you," she offered hopefully.

"Really?" He sounded truly surprised.

"Yeah, really. Ash's name was runner up."

"Wow…that's nice," he finally said, sincerely touched. "Didn't know you loved me that much…"

"Will you just come over and visit? Why haven't you been here lately?" 

"I've been warned away. By your soul mate _and_ my mom. They've got the crazy idea I wouldn't be helpful."

Maria laughed softly and twisted around to look at her windows. Although he had drawn the curtains, shady light infiltrated the room, and she estimated it was around noon. As insensible as it was, she felt the strong urge to visit Central Park again, or go shopping on Madison Avenue. She sighed. But that was impossible.

"What's the matter? I have a feeling you're not listening to me." Kyros obviously had no idea how many of his listeners tuned him out, for Maria detected a note of offense.

"Of course I am. And you're absolutely right," she lied placidly, picking at her blanket. Then she changed her voice, using a pathetic childish tone she had used with her aunt. "But do come over, Kyros. I'm positively miserable."

"Post birth trauma," he explained confidently. "My own ma cried for days after I was born."  


"Tears of joy, I'm sure. But, please, Kyros, I need nice company."

He had never been called "nice company" and was greatly pleased. Maria sensed his ego had been properly inflated, and continued with, "I'm not allowed to play with the girl for long, and everybody's terribly busy. Javier snaps more than usual. Please, Kyros, I miss you."

"How much?"

"Heaps. Besides, the evil Draches are coming today, and I'd rather not face them alone."

"What about your husband?"

She stopped fiddling with the sheets, and stared at the shut door, as if Valdis standing right there. Her brow furrowed at the mention. Despite the resumed interaction, there was an incurable uneasiness between them. She didn't know what to do about it, and he was just as awkward. So, following her proclivity for denial, they pretended all was well.

"We're getting a divorce, and I'm eloping with you," she answered, giggling, after a pause.

"Aw, Maria, you oughtta tell a guy that at least a week in advance," he complained. "So, ya know, he could run away."  


"Are you coming over or not?"

"I'm gonna. Besides, ma just made butt loads of apple tarts. I need to get 'em off my hands." Maria had to laugh at the words "butt loads," because she was surprised he hadn't outgrown the phrase, before she answered:  


"But you used to like apple tarts." She regretted pointing it out when she heard his breath hitch. There was a silence during which she knew he took a drag of his cigarette, and composed himself to reply. Maria shook her head, and thought she had never met a man so obstinately grievous. Apple tarts was Nissa's favorite of all Mrs. Snow's dishes, and not Kyros'.

"I'll be over in five minutes."

Maria didn't know which five minutes he was referring to, for an hour passed before she heard a buzz, signaling the arrival of somebody on the stoop below. The girl was bitterly disappointed to see, not Kyros peep inside the door, but a child of almost three, with a golden halo of hair floating of his head. And he was grinning wickedly.

"Jesus please us," she muttered grumpily, leaning back on her pillow. "The Draches are here."

Keller appeared behind Apollo, the demon child, to take him away until she spied Maria faking sleep. As she did with Keller's former teammate, the girls glared at each other as Apollo trampled in. He babbled hurriedly in what would have been a heated silence. Keller only moved when the little boy threatened to pull an important looking cord out of the socket.

"I didn't invite you," Maria said airily, "Valdis did. So don't expect me to be nice."

"Never did, never will," Keller replied in the same tone. 

"If you're going to be hostile," Maria said ironically, "you might as well leave."

Keller opened the curtains, and abundant sunlight came pouring in as Maria heard Galen and Valdis talking in the next room. "And miss our chance of seeing you?" Keller gave a falsely sweet smile. "Never."

Maria became unexpectedly irritated, or at least moreso than usual. "For Christ's sake, Keller. Don't tell me you're acting like everything's all right. Just go and say you came for my funeral and be done with it."

There was a shocked silence on Keller's part before she marched to Maria and pinched her arm hard.

"Ow!" she yelped, rubbing the skin. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Keller ushered Apollo out of the room and locked the door. Then she advanced on the injured girl, eyes flashing. "Listen. You may enjoy being blunt and shocking me, but it hurts the hell out of your husband." Maria's indignant expression became alarmed. "He doesn't like talking about it, and he especially doesn't like hearing about it. Galen almost got killed for asking if you were going to make it."

Maria didn't care so much for the last bit of information, for she was sure only Keller and the brat would miss that pansy. Also, she was secretly and childishly proud that her soul mate could beat up Keller's soul mate. Then she realized Keller was waiting impatiently for a response.

  
"Fine," she agreed, "I won't. I just didn't know…" Keller appeared pleased, and Maria couldn't bear the satisfied smirk on her lips. "But it's true you know. Nobody knows exactly what to do about me, other than rotting on this bed."

Keller shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Thierry's calling some favors. They might do a bypass."

"Right," she snorted in return. "Like I have enough good luck to survive that. If that scenario was so damn bright, why the hell is everybody coming to visit?"

"Misery likes company." Keller shrugged.

"I'm not miserable."

"No. We're pitying the man who has to live with you."

~*~*~*~

Funny how the walls weren't so unbearable. Strange how the darkness didn't pervade her soul any more. Bizarre how she actually anticipated Adrian's voice flowing from the wall.

But he didn't approach conversation today, or tonight, or somewhere in between. Rita waited on her cot, and then gradually made her way to the corner where they spoke and argued. He still didn't come. She heard muffled rustling, but no one appeared to fill the void. Verity found herself wringing her hands, worrying. Then a horrible thought entered her head:

What if they took him away?

Urgently, she scratched at the wall, unsure of her actions. An arm through the wall certainly wouldn't have helped him if there was a tussle, but she felt an odd duty to at least try. He was her soul mate for goodness' sake. Verity was sure soul mates had some sort of obligation towards each other, no matter how faint.

Then her palm scraped against something rough, but gave way. By the texture, she guessed it was the same straw that covered the cold floor. She was puzzled and was at the razor edge of hurt. She didn't want to learn that it was her soul mate who blocked the only thing to look forward to. Casting all doubts aside, she clawed at the makeshift plug, which was difficult because it had been packed in so tightly. Finally, she broke through and the last remnants fell away. Verity bowed forward and, as futile as it was, peered in.

She coughed. Something burning filled her lungs, and Rita reflexively pulled back. The coughs racked her body, and her eyes began to sting and tear. Still, she did not move away from the corner. Through the precious opening, she thought she saw a thousand glowing eyes, sometimes growing larger or narrowing at the sight of her.

"Adrian?" Panicked, she wondered if the cruel guards had tortured him in some way.

"Verity." The name was sighed with a mixture of relief and irritation. Then his voice became closer, and the smoke creeping in became blocked. "I put the straw here for a reason."

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked, with coughs spacing each word.

Amaro became hesitant. "Something stupid," he mumbled.

"Enlighten me."

"Yousaidyouwantedlight,soItriedtogiveyoulight," he said as quickly as possible.

"Pardon?" Verity was utterly confused.

He sighed resignedly. "I'm a dragon, Verity. I happen to breathe fire sometimes, if I work hard at it. And you wanted light…I just didn't take into account the ventilation conditions. Couldn't very well have you dying from smoke inhalation."

"Oh." It was a pitiful response, but the only sound she could produce at the moment. She hadn't expected…well, she couldn't have expected…it wasn't as if she asked him to…

"Thank you," she said softly, finally remembering her manners. "For trying, I mean."  


"I was an idiot. Straw doesn't provide much light, which I forgot. Only heat."

"It was still a nice effort," she assured him, and then restrained herself. The man had exhibited a high opinion of himself plenty of times. There was no need to correct him when he showed some humility. In fact it was admirable. So she hardened her tone, and said, "But you really need to think things through. Smoke would have probably signal guards, and they would have come and smothered it."

A pause. A dreadful pause. A dreadful, long pause during which Verity rebuked herself thoroughly. Then he sighed again, Rita silently echoing his act. Thank goodness he hadn't left her.

"You're right. Just let me take care of this, and we'll restart the game." She didn't know how he could possibly take care of a roomful of smoke, but she agreed and backed away as he stuffed the wall. Verity bit her lip and stared at her inky cell during the interminable task of waiting. Finally, after she thought he must have passed out from the effort, she heard crackling from the corner.

"Who's turn is it?" he asked, surprisingly pleasant.

"Mine." She waited for the argument, because truthfully she didn't know whose turn it was. None came. Verity braced herself, for she knew her query hit a sore spot, and would cause a quiet uproar. But he did say to start at the beginning. "Adrian…Why were you so _mean_?" she braved shakily. Rita took his silence as confusion, and clarified, "Back then. With Tana. Even if couples don't love each other, they're at least civil. Why were you so mean? You always had to rain on her—my parade."

The figure of speech was unfamiliar to him, but he smiled anyway, mirthlessly. "Some people prefer the rain," he replied quietly.

"That's not an answer," she pursued doggedly.

"Yes, it is, in a way. You know how it is, Verity. I've seen you at school."

"I still don't follow."

"In the mornings," he continued insistently. "When somebody like Sammy T came bounding in, or Marjorie. Always so happy. And you'd roll your eyes, or that line between your eyebrows would crease."

"I don't see—"

"Whenever it creases, you're annoyed. You think, just like most of the world, that nobody should be so cheerful in the morning."

"But Tana wasn't just happy in the morning," she pointed out, puzzled. "And you were still so mean." Rita shook her head for lack of a better word. 

"I know," he admitted, still subdued. "Because it was annoying. Because, when you're that miserable, you…I don't know. I'm not good at this."

"Try," she ordered darkly. She was fast becoming annoyed, and moreso knowing that the crease came between her eyebrows.

"Misery loves company, I guess," he mumbled helplessly. "Listen, I know we swore to the truth, but nobody ever said it'd be satisfactory. I had a lot of burdens back then—"

"I being one of them," she interjected harshly.

"To be truthful, yes," her soul mate snapped, "You were one of them. When you have that many problems, a cheery little child with her cheery little doll was more of a nuisance than help. I had to stop your bothering me, so I did what was necessary."

"Being a brute," Rita supplied, outraged.

"Being impersonal," Adrian corrected coldly. "I had nothing against you, Rita. It wasn't you. If you just behaved, I wouldn't have—"

"But you knew how I was," she protested hotly. Without any light, she knew her emerald eyes flashed. "You knew from the first time we met. I can barely hold my tongue now, I couldn't back then. You knew, and you didn't have to marry me. You didn't have to add on another _burden_."

"Verity—"

"And did you do any way? We were the gentry, for goodness' sake, Adrian. We didn't have anything to do. What was so blessedly important that you couldn't even explain things to me?"

"Looking for my family," he answered simply. She sat silenced for a few seconds, but asked before he could get a word in edgewise. 

"What about the time you went to Nepthys? What about then?"

"I was trying to protect you! Nepthys had a habit of befriending ver—humans, trying to wage whether they were worth killing or not. And, more often than not, they were worth killing. I couldn't very well stake her with you tagging along." She sat in boiling confusion. "You being my wife made half the town either want to kill you, or made them pity you."

"If that's true, then you should have divorced me," she replied angrily. 

"Soul mates belong together," he grated tensely, his teeth clenched. "Everybody knows that. It's how everything's ordained."

"Soul mates don't belong together. I haven't seen any soul mates who are happy in the same twenty feet."

"_I_ have."

"Name them," she challenged, her voice taunting as his was taut.

"_My_ _parents_!" he thundered, boiling anger doubling in fiery heat. "My parents were soul mates and they lived in bliss. Soul mates belong together. Soul mates should be married." Although the words were volatile, Rita thought he sounded as if he were reciting them as well. It was strange, for a split second, to think of his a normal boy who obeyed his parents.

"Who says?" she said defiantly.

"Are you daft?" His voice was still booming, still incensed. "My father, if you haven't figured it out. Soul mates stay together. Soul mates protect each other."

"Protect," she repeated evenly. "_Protect_," she scoffed.

"Yes," he assented, broiling emotions behind his words. "It's what I did, Verity."

"No," she contradicted, in a voice that held no room for arguments. "You smothered. Your father may have taught you all those rules, Adrian, but he forgot one thing. He never mentioned love. If there was that between you and Tana, we might not be where we are now."

"Father was never wrong," he answered, an edgy pause between each word. "Don't speak of him. Don't you _dare_." The threatening undertones were familiar to her. If not for the wall between them, she could have backed away in trepidation. But he continued, in the same terrible timbre, "Who are _you_ to criticize my family?"

She pounced on it, accepting it as his question. "I can criticize your family, Adrian, because you ruined mine."

"You're spinning tales now," he dismissed carelessly.

"_I am not_!" she exploded. "You came to Anomina. You had business. You made Melissa the way she was."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Yes you do," she insisted. To her horror, she felt wetness falling from her eyes, sticking to her lashes. Rita felt strangely helpless against his deliberate blandness and denial. He knew the truth, he admitted it before. "You came, and you were a student. We met once."

"I would have remembered that, Rita," he argued, terribly reasonable.

"But we did, we did." A note of pleading slipped into her voice. "You patted my hand, as if I was a child, and asked me if anybody called me Ritz."

"I did what?"

The strength in her protest grew, and she felt he was finally remembering. "Asked if anybody called me Ritz as a nick name. You did back then, and then you did earlier this year in the gym…"

"I didn't," he stated stubbornly. "I admit being in the gym when you…had that episode. But, consider this Verity—"

"NO! No, no, no!" Why did he have to do this? Why did he frustrate her purposely, to the point where she wanted to tear out her hair? "Why do I have to consider what you say when you won't consider what I say?" 

"Verity, calm down."

"I won't! I don't have to listen to you! You never listen to me, you never have—"

"_Verity Catalina Glisscielle_!" he growled menacingly. A feral sound came rumbled with the full name, causing its owner to hush momentarily. She was stunned actually, that he remembered it. "That's not possible. We never met until last year."

"But," she piped up meekly.

"But me no buts. We never met until this year. If I had met you all those years before, and I patted your hand…" The rest, the horrendously logical rest, he left unsaid.

She understood it, and it made perfect sense. He was right. Good God, he was right. 

"Verity?"

"Wait," she murmured faintly. "I just…just…" Her normally quick mind was achingly slow with the realization. He was right. Verity Catalina Glisscielle and Adrian Amaro met for the first time last year. He had never met Melissa. He never drove home with her. But, in the gym—

She didn't know she said the last part aloud until she heard him say, much gentler than she would have expected, "That's right, I was there. I came inside, and you shot that boy. There was the vampire, and that idiot—"

Mechanically, she protested quietly, "Don't. He died for me." There was an awkward pause that Verity never noticed. It still hadn't fully sunk in.

"And Jared, and there was a boy in front of you. And you shot him."

"But that was you. I saw, we all saw…"

"No, it wasn't," he said firmly. And Adrian was right again. Because the boy hadn't had a small, rectangular book in his pocket.

Then, came the question, in an achingly tender voice: "Why did you shoot him?" Adrian was hurt. More than hurt. He knew she hated him, she knew she couldn't stand a single hair on his head. But he hadn't known that, at one point in her life, she wanted him dead.

It wasn't his turn. In her jumbled, starved, shocked mind, that was all she could think of. Later, she would laugh at her stupefied state, and wonder at her priorities. Her sister's killer wasn't the killer, and she thought of game turns. But, she answered delicately:

"Because he made my sister miserable. Me, too, really. And, I guess, because…Misery loves company."

It almost made her wish that he was responsible for all the terrible things in her life. Adrian was already there, after all. A solid, arrogant person, to see and rant at all she wanted. So much time, so much energy, so much hatred…wasted.

This, she suspected, was what Adrian felt when he learned the truth of Tana's "love affair." Violent words, furious tears, a torn heart…

Wasted.

And she didn't know what to feel now. 

~*~*~*~

****

  
I've been crawling in the dark  
Looking for the answer"

HOOBASTANK

Aarrgh! They're so stubborn! I try to make them get along, but…! Any who, whatchya think? 


	15. Vital Questions

****

Hello to everybody reading this! It's been what? A month since I've updated? My sincerest apologies to anybody who has generously maintained their interest in this little ditty. I'm an incredible dork—just recently received a long awaited DVD, and now I watch it constantly. Very zombie-like of me, I suppose. My summary's varied from the norm, but it's hard to think of three phrases that explains the whole chapter. Or maybe I'm intellectually challenged…hope there's a cure. 

Neona-deniker: You maybe the only person who actually pitied Sabrina. In my opinion, Mary Lynnette should have tackled her then and there, but I suppose that would have startled Ceberus. Hmm, Adrian and Rita…I can't exactly say they'll be lovin' it up down in the dungeon, but things would move along nicely. And bravo to you for liking Maria—if nobody like us will value the pains in the asses, then who will? And when Rita said that, she wasn't try to be funny; just truthful.

Now, when is there not trouble in the Eldson household? I dunno what to say about the boy…but, with my stories, one should read into things as often as possible. Any who, Valdis did always say that Eldson men were strong, he just didn't explain how they stayed strong. And, gosh darn, Nancy Drew, stop trying to solve the mystery before the author herself figures out the mystery! Their relationship has already changed from its original stance, and it will some more, but I'll leave the interpretation to you. Thanks bunch!

Nikki: Curt and courteous review, Nikki, very nice. Ah, the request to write more and 'asap'…nice, but far too optimistic. Nowadays (great word) I usually have to choose between two great loves: writing/updating fanfiction, or sleep. And I love sleep! But maybe, since I'll be…um…'sick' a lot next semester, I'll have more time to update. Thank you for your consideration! :0)

Alocin: Kewl! Two 'really''s, so that must mean I'm up to par. I know you loved it lots (and loving it lots and lots...am I the only one who knows that song?) but, if you're not too busy, I'd like to know what part you love the best…maybe I'd emphasize them. But that's only if you have the time, and hopefully you'll keep on reviewing, whether they're short or long. Thank you for the smiley face! 

Leian: That's right, I'm an awful little tease. Shame, shame, shame. 'Yay! An update!' isn't always original, but it does make me smile to know that some people yay when I update. Fine maybe an overstatement for their relationship status, but somebody has to be optimistic about them—even if you're not in the story. Personally, I'm not sure if I want them to get along fine or not… And, as always, things are never what they seem. I love that theme; more than the surface and blah, blah, blah. But, admit it, Leian: even if all I do is hint, you enjoy the hinting. I'd rather have it in bits and pieces (like Chimera) than the whole plot falling in my lap. Thanks for the review!

****

Martha: Well, you got it in a nutshell. No this is me in a nutshell!…sorry, Austin Powers moment It's always fun to hate the boy, but it's kinda hard when the hatred is groundless, huh? But if you do want a reason to hate him, you could always remember that, although he never did any of those things, he never took the time to explain why he was so mean. I hope that's enough!

Zabella: Didn't I tell y'all to stop asking for the prevention of certain people's deaths? I have no control over the plot this late in the story—please understand that. It's a snowball now. A rolling, unstoppable, fluffy (are snowball's fluffy? I don't think so. Any who) gigantic snowball. But you are right about Valdis loving and needing her. Insane, isn't he?

Vague Verity

Chapter 15

****

"The devil, depend upon it,

~*~*~*~

New York 

The scene was so morbidly joyous when she arrived. Everybody so courteous, taking her luggage. Laughing at the clumsy, gigantic dog. Studying the bizarre turtle. And they were all there for the same reason. But they refused to acknowledge it.

And when she walked into the bedroom, strangely hushed compared to the guests outside, she understood why. Because it would crash down the heady feeling this gathering produced. Ruin the fun. And because even the new mother refused to see it dead in the eye.

Maria was sleeping when she opened the door and quietly closed it behind her. Valdis had seen her enter from the kitchen, but didn't stop her, although any one else was not allowed to accompany her. After all, she had a small role in defeating the Night World. She deserved some privileges.

Hannah shook head, unsure what for. Maybe for the silliness of it all. These were Daybreakers. They knew better. They knew, just like she did, that running away from Death didn't postpone it. And yet there they sat, eating and joking as if everything was going to be all right. A small part didn't blame them. They weren't Old Souls. They didn't fully comprehend…and nobody wanted to think of their first loss since the Final Battle.

Silently, she approached the bed, careful to avoid the equipment. The patient looked so ironically vulnerable. Maria wasn't a Daybreaker, she rationalized. Even when she helped them, she wasn't one, and she never wanted to be. But it was still the Circle's loss, and no other world could fully claim her. The frail, sickly girl on the bed wasn't wholly part of the unknowing human world. And, despite her stay with them, she was never completely Night World either. And Circle Daybreak never really had all of Maria. But it didn't mean they didn't love her.

Usually a healthy tan, Maria's pale face winced in slumber. After some tossing, she finally opened her eyes, leaving Hannah relieved. The eyes were still the same, thank heavens. Still the same lively flames.

"Well," her small friend began, with a surprisingly strong voice. "Now it's complete. I guess I can die now."

"Maria," she reproved gently. "You know Thierry's working hard—"

"I know," she interrupted, smiling. There was a bitter sweetness to it that Hannah didn't like. "But I'm glad you're here. The Redferns are driving me crazy."

"What is it with you and that family?" Maria shrugged.

"I don't think we'll ever get along. Oh, and you know what's alarming?" Hannah stood unsure of what to say to that. Many things were alarming in this situation. Maria continued as if she didn't notice the girl's discomfort. "Every time the Draches come from the Plaza, Apollo goes straight to Gwendolyn. And Valdis has already told me that Apollo thinks she's pretty. The little brat's a cradle robber!"

"Maria! Galen could probably hear you through that wall."

"Like I give a rat's ass." The former wild power shifted, very gingerly Hannah noticed, so that she faced the living room as if she could see through the wall. "No Drache is ever going to date my daughter!"

"Damn straight," was Galen's muffled, hearty reply. Then they heard the laughter of the other occupants. Maria looked stormy, and settled back into her supine position. 

"I don't like them here," she confided seriously to Hannah. "It makes everything so final. Might as well bury me already." Hannah frowned, disliking the frankness. "Make them go away."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Ask them to," Maria pleaded. "They respect you. Everybody does."

"They respect you too," she responded, and Maria rolled her eyes. Then she was rudely shoved aside because she was in the way of the bedside table, where the remote control resided.

"No time for fiction," Maria said curtly. "Time for Trading Spaces," she explained as she surfed through the channels. Hannah watched, puzzled at the abrupt change in manners. She didn't know how Valdis lived with her. 

Then, at the end of the show, the girl was startlingly serious again. Hannah was just about to leave her to her rest when Maria grabbed her hand, with very little strength. "Listen," she began quietly, almost whispering. "They're gonna say things about me. About how I'm acting weird about the babies and all."

"Maria, they don't hate you," she assured her, squeezing her arm affectionately. Maria didn't register it.

"And it's not like I care what they think. But you're kinda important to me. So…I just wanted to let you know that…I have a good reason. For not seeing them."

"The visitors?"

"The babies," she stated, as if it were obvious. "I don't hate them. I…" she faltered, and then took a deep breath. "I did hate them, for a little while. But it's not like that now…you don't want to get too close you know, to something you're going to leave. That's why you don't form an attachment to somebody while on vacations. You hafta to leave them."

Again she squeezed the thin arm, uncertain she could trust her words for a moment. Hannah saw how sure she was, doubtless of the outcome. But then again, Thierry was working hard to find a solution. And she had strong faith in her soul mate. "I'll go visit them now," she said instead, with a warm smile. 

"Gwendolyn Hannah Eldson," Maria grinned to herself. "She looks sort of like you. Blonde and everything."

Hannah gave a tremulous smile and left the room. As soon as she closed the door, she heard quick footsteps behind her.

"Hey Snow."

"Hey Snow," she said back, turning to Kyros. "Maria said it was okay to see the babies." It took ten minutes to find out which room it was. Only one to see the door he pointed at. Nine to say that, yes, the flight was fine and then to listen of his opinion of the problems of today's airliners. Then the fox decided to join Hannah in the nursery.

She first saw little Gwendolyn, laying peacefully in a pink cradle. To her surprise, she wasn't sleeping, but staring up, hypnotized by the toys hanging from the mobile above. Hannah turned to Kyros questioningly for the strange behavior. He only grinned in response and said, "Watch this." 

The boy wound the key above the heavenly themed mobile, and tinkly sounds filled the room. The angels and clouds rotated slowly. Gwendolyn Hannah let out a shout of laughter, and clapped her chubby hands. The squeals of joy weren't done, and continued for sometime, even after the music faded. 

"She's adorable," Hannah breathed, and then frowned. "But where's the other baby's crib?"

Kyros mirrored her expression. "Don't you know? He doesn't need one."

"Why?" For an answer, Kyros pointed to a corner of the room, where for the first time Hannah noticed a pitifully tiny infant. She approached it slowly, as if too loud a sound would harm the fragile thing. It wasn't in a crib because it was in a box, she realized. A depressing, plastic container with holes in the sides to allow its parents to touch it. But they couldn't hold it. The poor babe was riddled with tubes, and then Hannah saw why he was tucked away into a corner. Valdis Junior needed a space with many electrical outlets, because he depended on so many machines to live.

Cautiously, Hannah lifted a hand through one of the openings, and stroked the soft black hair. He was the very image of his mother; black haired, tawny skin, and utterly helpless.

"Kinda sad, huh?" Kyros asked behind her, knowing it was an understatement.

"Why didn't anybody mention this to Thierry?" she whispered angrily. "He's looking for help for Maria, he could something about Valdis too—"

"Because there's nothing to do," he answered, surprisingly gentle. "Javier said so, and he's the best we got. If the baby gets stronger, then they could help. But right now it's the waiting period." Hannah didn't move, still touching the incredibly silky strands. "Come on," he said finally, "you might as well eat."

"I'm not hungry," she replied automatically, but she allowed herself to be towed away any way. Kyros was adamant that she tried his mother's apple tarts. And they both knew it would not be wise to dwell on depressing matters. 

~*~*~*~

They resumed the game again. He asked about her family.

"There's not much to it really. Mom and me, and Melissa."

"I guess you didn't have a father." He learned he wouldn't get in trouble for just making statements, and not asking more questions. Verity hadn't picked up on it.

"He died from lung cancer when I was two."

"You sound as if you don't miss him."

"Goodness, Adrian, I was two. Of course I don't."

"That's a little harsh," he objected. "He made you, and took care of you."

"Yes," she answered, with little remorse. "But he forgot to take care of himself. The man dug his own grave, leaving a single mother of two."

"You still sound so…" He didn't want to finish. To say that she sounded like himself would have been taken as an insult. "But now it's your turn."

Rita hesitated, because they were getting along relatively well. And because she had been wrong about something so dire, she was afraid she would be wrong about her next subject. But there was nothing to do but ask and see.

"I've just been wondering…did you love her?"

"Who? Tana? Now, Rita, we both know the answer that."

"No," she said quietly. "The woman in England." Rita heard him sigh, exasperated, and spoke more urgently, trying to explain why she _had_ to bring it up. "You never answered her before, and it wouldn't be so awful if your extramarital affairs were for true love—"

"Verity," he interrupted tiredly. "Save your breath. And, I don't—what, I mean to say is…" She heard a sudden thump on the wall. She could imagine his hands balling into fists, slamming down on something. He had done so before. "Why?" he asked urgently. "Why do you have to bring it up? We're doing fine without bringing that up—"

"Because," she said, her voice just as desperate, "we have to. We just do, otherwise I'd just be pretending everything's okay…"

"Everything _was_ okay! You didn't cheat on me, I didn't kill your sister…everything was fine."

"This is a game of truths," she returned quietly, pinching at her fingers. "We swore, Adrian. We swore on family." Rita didn't like the way her voice trembled, or the tingly fire on her hands. But most of all, she didn't like his anger. It scared her, the way it flared up so quickly, no warning whatsoever. She forgot how furious he could get.

"All right," he murmured, abruptly calm. He sounded exhausted. Defeated. "I was going to say that I just…I just didn't want to ruin that picture for you. Me, risking it all just to see my one true love in England…very noble."

"But?"

"But, it wouldn't be the truth. I didn't love her. She loved me, though, if that makes it any better. That's what she said, any way."

"It doesn't," she contradicted, her stomaching tying into knots. Rita told herself she had asked for it. It was too late to take the question back. But his words wounded her, despite whose fault it was. Somebody loved him, even though Tana did. The only consolation was that he didn't love that somebody, but married his soul mate.

He was still talking. "She was my betrothed. Before I met you. Before everything…"

"I guess that makes sense," she said neutrally. "A dragon needs another dragon, I suppose."

"Oh, no," he contradicted. "She wasn't a dragon. She was a witch."

"Your parents made a witch your betrothed?"

"It's not your turn," he pointed out wryly.

"Oh, I'm sorry—"

"It's all right. And stop doing that."

Rita sat, puzzled. Was he looking through the hole? She had told him not to do that, because it gave him an unfair advantage. "What?"

"Apologizing without meaning it. You only say sorry to avoid confrontation."

"Well, then you stop that. Analyzing me."

"Fine." There was a hint of laughter in his voice. "And, to answer you illegal question, yes. Her family was one of the few witch families who remained loyal to dragon rule."

"But, if you didn't love her, then why did you keep leaving?" She heard him shift uneasily.

"A sense of obligation, I think. She voluntarily joined me in my sleep, you know, instead of joining the witches. To take care of me when I woke up."

"As if you couldn't take care of yourself," she snorted derisively without thinking. Then Verity immediately bit her tongue.

"That's what I said!" he replied excitedly. "I told my parents that I didn't need a governess. After all, I was sixteen. Practically a man."

"But why didn't they listen?"

He didn't seem bothered by her outrageous disobedience to the game rules. "Back then, nobody would listen to a sixteen year old dragon with only three horns."

"What difference does that make?"

"Rita, I only have three horns. The normal number is four."

"So?"

"So," he answered, surprised , "I'm inadequate. One less means less of a dragon."

"That's silly," she scoffed. 

"No it's not," he objected, sounding factual. "It makes sense. It made me weaker than my family."

"And now?"

"Now?" Apparently, he hadn't thought of now. "Now…I guess I'm the strongest."

"Good for you," she said proudly. "Overcoming the ill opinion of kin just because you're not as horny…oh dear, that came out wrong…"

"No." Thankfully, he ignored the slip of the tongue. "I'm the strongest now because they're all dead."

"Oh," she replied, disappointed. "That makes more sense."

"But the funny thing is, she wasn't there," he told her with dry humor. "When I woke up, I was all alone."

"Maybe she had another engagement."

"Doubt it. But, inconveniently enough, after our marriage, she contacted me. Said she was dying. That was why I left for England, because she was almost family, after all. And our parents were such good friends. You know," he began, sounding nostalgic, "now that I think of it, you and her were the only two whoever claimed love for me. But, she kinda scared me when she told me so—" 

"Hmph," was all Rita said in return. "She took an awfully long time in dying."

"Rita," he rebuked. "You mustn't speak of the dead like that." Rita paused and thought, recalling Winnie's description for witches. They had spells for everything, she had said. Surely the neglectful fiancee would have had _something_ for death. 

"When did she die?"

"Remember our gala? The last one, I mean."

"Of course I do," she stated crisply. "It's the one where the little hussy actually came to my home—"

"Verity!" he exclaimed, evidently scandalized. "She never did that! Calida never came to Spain."

"Yes she was! She was at our gala. I spoke to her."

"You did not. I would have seen you. I was watching you all night."

"Well, then, you must have blinked for a long time, because we had the most unpleasant little chat. About how she enjoyed your visits to London, dirty little—"

"That's absurd. The only person you spoke to was my friend, Robert. He came down from London to the gala, I'm certain of that. Calida died during my visit before it."

"Calida," she said, privately believing it was the ugliest name ever, "chatted with me, and then saw you. Then the home wrecker walked towards you as if there were bongo drums banging to her pace. You know the type. Besides, I saw you staring at her."

"No," he stated firmly, now with cold knives in his voice. "The only thing I saw was you slipping off the wedding band. Sneaking away to the stables. As if it were all nothing."

"_What?"_ Verity tried with every ounce of strength to check the rising fury, but his next words annihilated the dam entirely.

"I heard them fall to the ground. You acted as if what I gave to you was _nothing_. You preferred hay and a stupid boy than all I offered you. I saw it."

"Of all the hypocritical things to say—"

"You kissed him twice! _Twice_. Maybe I'd feel better if you screwed him. At least it would have just been physical then—but no. No, you give the world in your kisses. You give yourself. And to him, not your soul mate, you gave all of you twice."

"Kissed him twice, yes. And maybe kisses meant more than whatever you did with her. But, where I gave myself to you most of the time, and him twice, at least I gave. At least I left myself open once in a while. Jorge did too."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Marriage…or being soul mates…or being in love," she added ruefully, "Almost in love. You need participation on both sides you know. And Tana would give it all, and Jorge did too, but _you_." Rita laughed, embarrassed of the memories. "Stupid child. She imagined your effort for you. You didn't even try, for goodness' sake, but she'd imagine that you did."

"I don't understand," he said shortly.

"Yes, you do. You do, and you don't want to own up to it. _Coward_."

"All right, explain that one. Coward, how exactly?"

She hated his patronizing tone, and the way he could end his anger so abruptly. But something, maybe their link, allowed her to feel the thinness of his new tranquillity, and the bubbling ire underneath. All it would take was a few phrases, and he would lose control. And, goodness, she hated his control.

"It's so easy, isn't it, Adrian? To attack, and attack, but to block out any offense on your behavior? You left so many times, and Tana said nothing. You yelled at her so many times, and Tana would simply accept and apologize. You stared at her so—so _coldly_, while she gazed back with full adoration. Shame, shame on me for giving my all. While my soul mate gave nothing. You're afraid."

"Of what?" The restraint on his fury was tenuous, and crumbling fast.

"Criticism. You don't like hearing about your past mistakes, so you so charitably dwell on mine."

"I sat through all of that, didn't I?"

"Hearing, but not listening. Bravo, wonderful talent you've got there."

"You're not making any sense!"

"My goodness, do I have to spell it out? And Adrian, you really don't want me to spell it out," she warned mockingly.

"For god's fucking sake—"

"You _failed_," she told him clearly. "Of being a soul mate. And you don't want to hear about it. So you pretend you're wounded by my two minor kisses, and you visits to England were all for obligation. You play make believe that your protective ways didn't kill her every day because of your little regard for her emotions."

"You make it sound as if I abused you constantly."

"Of course not. There were the moments when you so generously threw a smile…when you wanted to share a bed. You failed, and you can't stand it. So, when you saw me in Anomina, you probably thought, 'Here's your chance Adrian. Go fix that failure, and you'll be perfect again.' There," she said when he hadn't responded. "I told you that you didn't want me to spell it out."

"God damn it all," he ground out.

"What now?" she asked pleasantly, cheered by having the upper hand.

"Too clever by half," he informed her darkly. "But you know what's the sadder part?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know. The fact that this failure is probably one of many you can't fix?"

"No. It's the fact that you're just like me." She would have leapt at him if it wasn't for the pesky bricks in the way.

"The heck I am." Verity was absolutely livid.

"No? So harsh on everybody but yourself. Thinking that you know better, so arrange everybody's life and emotions accordingly. What happened between you and Jared? The wolf you made love you, and then you cut him off when it wasn't convenient. It shows little regard for his emotions, doesn't it?"

"That's not true."

"And Smith? Sure, you turned hot and cold on him so many times. Cold whenever you didn't need him…or he showed he knew too much about you. And hot when you needed something. Comfort. His bed."

"That was completely different."

"Is it?"

"Yes," she spat. "It doesn't mean we're the same."

"Of course not. After all, I supposedly smothered my wife with my protective ways—oh. _Oh_ wait a second. What about Melissa?"

"Don't you dare," she warned. "You're not fit to speak her name."

"Keeping her in her room, no fresh air—"

"For her own safety!"

"Making sure nobody else saw her—"

"She wasn't used to strangers!"

"And whose fault was that?" he lashed out, throwing aside the amicable tone. "People can get used to strangers, Verity, even the disabled ones. You never let her. And then you refused speech lessons."

"We had no money!"

"True, but is that what kept you from talking to her yourself? You couldn't afford a conversation with the sister who took care of you till your reached fourteen? Let's face it," he said viciously. "Even if you did have the money, you would have spent it on some college books for yourself."

"I'm not listening any more…"

Adrian inhaled deeply, and lost the sneering tone. Attacking her wasn't the way to start a half decent relationship, and, unlike her, he wasn't very successful with it. Distractedly, he wondered if he was just as stubborn back in the day.

"Look," he began uneasily when she interrupted quietly.

"Maybe…you were close to right, on some parts. Not all. Just some…and you were close, not exactly… What's so funny?" She asked indignantly when he released a soft chuckle.

"Nothing—I was just sitting here, starting to think you were like me, the old me, and the whole bloody mess would start all over again."

"And?"

"And," he finished gravely, "you're not. And I'm thankful for that."

"Oh…" Rita sat, unsure of what to say. She was surprised what this man could do to her with mere words. One minute, she was practically combusting with rage, and the next, she was bewildered speechless. Soul mate's prerogative, she supposed.

"My question," he told her abruptly, shattering her delicate confusion. "Is…and you might not like it," he warned.

"We never like the questions," she responded dully.

"Good point…all right, here it is: Did you enjoy your marriage to Bryan? Better than yours to me, I mean. What I mean to say is…which husband do you prefer? I know, by all first appearances, the answer is obvious, but—"

"Oh, Adrian, stop rambling will you? It's very annoying."  


"Right."

"And I don't really know how to answer that question, because they were so very different," she said apprehensively. Rita heard something very much like a snarl of impatience from his side, but decided to ignore it. "And Bryan was, obviously much nicer—"

"So, Smith, then," he answered for her in a falsely perfunctory way.

"No," she contradicted immediately, and then bit her lip. "In, some ways, yes, but if you think about it—"

"Stop rambling," he said curtly. "It's annoying."

"Fine," she snapped. "The only I can answer is saying that I didn't cry for him. When I saw he was dead, and even after I woke up, I didn't miss him and I didn't cry. Tried to, of course, but failed. Does that make you feel better?"

He sat flabbergasted for a few seconds. "Uh…sort of, yes—"

"Well you shouldn't. Because where I stopped caring for him enough to make me cry even if he tried to hurt me, Tana did care for you. And you did try to hurt her. Does _that_ make you feel better?" Verity heard the unprecedented belligerence in her voice and stopped short. All of a sudden she was tired of it. "Goodness gracious, Adrian, listen to us."

"You're the one who's talking," he pointed out sulkily.

"I mean us. We don't even like each other. We can't even stay in separate rooms and get along. How is it that we're soul mates?"

"Beats me." Adrian didn't sound at all bothered by it.

"But," she pursued, a little puzzled. "Isn't there supposed to be something between us? Chemistry, electricity, physics…don't comment on the last one," she requested, embarrassed. "I mean, Maria told me all the stories about her and her soul mate friends. But ours doesn't sound like theirs, where we hate each other but secretly love each other. I really do detest you. And, if you get to the bare bones about it and drop that silly sense of duty, you don't like me either."

"Well, I—"

"Adrian."

"All right. To be truthful, I think it's a damn shame you turned into some deformed form of me—not physically of course—and even more of a damn shame that I can't fix it. And, hell, I had no idea I was this irritating in Spain."

"Oh shut up, I'm not you. You're you. I'm me."

"Thank you for that Sherlock. I meant, and this is very far fetched theorizing here, is that the present you is a sad result of my treatment."

"My goodness, I can't believe you still manage to maintain such a high opinion of yourself."  


"What did I do now?" Adrian, who had little social experience, wondered if all males suffered the flaw of perpetually, but accidentally, offending the opposite sex. 

"_You_ taking credit for _me_? It would be nice to say I was a completely rotten kid and it was all your fault, but that wouldn't be true. I'm not going to sit here and let you get credit for my intelligence, my patience, my—"

"Fine, I get it. I told you it was far fetched."

"Good. Now it's my turn."

"You just asked a million questions," he protested.

"It's my turn," she repeated firmly, although Rita realized it was unfair. But she simply had to get this out. "And, for a few minutes, disregard that part about us hating each other. Which version do you like better: me or Tana?"  


~*~*~*~

New York

"So let me get this straight," she began slowly, and a sadly weaker voice. Kyros sat fidgeting in a chair beside her. He wanted to yell back in defense, but it was a universal rule that one mustn't yell at the sickly. It would have earned him a punch from somebody. "My friend runs away and elopes with the rude punk vampire. Months later, they find the icky body of Bryan Smith with no clue as to where she went…and Thierry does nothing?"

"You see, it didn't look like nothing when we—"

"Oh wait," Maria realized. "That doesn't sound like Thierry. It sounds like somebody didn't tell him that a poor innocent human might have been left stranded in Tahiti. Who could that somebody be, I wonder…"

"All right! All right, I screwed up, minorly—"

"Minorly," she repeated. "The girl could be living on the exotic streets as we speak, cleaning out the exotic gutters, and the man says minorly."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Go to Tahiti, or wherever the poor thing is now. She's only learned French you know. I don't think she knows any other language. Spanish, maybe, but if they speak Spanish in Tahiti, I don't know…"

Kyros stood, ready to leave, and then paused. "But…I hafta have Thierry's permission."

"And then you'll be fired, or suspended, for withholding information. Just go, and find her. Take a partner to make sure you won't get involved with some foreign slut."

"For god's sake, she's fine. Why doesn't anybody understand? Verity could probably land in hell and have Satan taking orders by the end of the week! She's not the type that needs rescuing!"

Maria understood that Kyros hadn't intentionally been callous. He wasn't exactly the type to purposely forget a girl's existence because she had scorned him. But the boy did have too much faith in a sixteen year old's capabilities. Something would have to convince him to correct it.

It was simply a look. She hadn't used it since pre Battle times. All she did was glare heavily, but she suspected something else was conveyed; Kyros abruptly consented and stood.

Showing some dignity, he paused in the door way. "This is no guarantee I'll do anything. Just a bit of investigating."

"Thank you Kyros, for promising to rescue Rita in the case of my death."

"What?" Kyros was understandably startled.

"Lord knows that all deathbed promises are sacred, and must be kept at all costs," she continued nonchalantly, as if this topic had been going on for some time. "God speed on your mission."

"This isn't a mission! I'm not rescuin' anybody!"

He tried to argue, but, as always, Maria remained stubborn until her words nearly physically pushed him out of the apartment. Maria watched him go, speculating that people and missions would not go missing or awry at all if the Circle Daybreak was completely run and operated by women. It was just good dumb luck that the men who were involved weren't complete idiots, or void of modicums of honor.

~*~*~*~

"You," he finally answered.

"Truly?"

"No question of a doubt." Verity said nothing. It was after all, a game of truths, and they swore on family.

"Verity?"

"What?" she asked dreamily, absurdly pleased by his answer.

"I think it's time we try to escape out of here."

"Kay," she consented softly, surprising him with her submissive manner. He had been expecting a rational protest; but he did not know that, once again, he had once again succeeded in shocking her.

A part of her confounded the man for doing that…and another part applauded him, the disgustingly feminine part.

~*~*~*~

can sometimes do a very gentlemanly thing." 

Robert Louis Stevenson

I love feedback almost as much as I love chocolate. I'm sorry that it's "almost" but, come on! Anybody who's tasted chocolate would understand. 


	16. Vital Plans

****

Hiya.

****

World weary traveler: Are you really weary of the world? Never mind, silly question. The first few chapters were long, but I think I've developed the knack of shortening the chapters as things move along. I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing. And about that whole dying thing…er, yeah, well…enjoy the story! ;-) 

Person with no name: I guess you mean nice of the chapter, which it was considering they were ready to tear each other's head off just minutes before. Funny you said superb, because just the other day we were reading aloud in French and my friend read "superbe" like "super bee. What's a super bee?" Took her forever to figure it out…but you probably don't care and just want to read. Never mind and enjoy this little excuse of a story! Happy trails. 

Neona-deniker: Yes, sad times, sad times…but to quote the Hey Arnold Movie…What can you do? Actually, I do have the power over that situation but I choose not to exercise it. And girl, what did I tell you about not solving mysteries until I've solved them myself?! I know habits are hard to break (hee,hee, and so are hobbits. Sturdy species…I digress) but stop it. Right now. This is a work in progress for me too, ya know, and I can't have it progressing without me. And yeah, Rita was pretty firm about seeing that witch at the party, considering all the wrong assumptions she's made before. And, ah Kyros, the half hearted hero…dunno quite what to say about him, except I love him too. Despite his many, many, many faults. 

More than u know: Hmm, I'll take a wild stab at it…an hour? Hour and a half? Kewl, I don't think I've ever gotten "hella good" status before, and I'm very much honored. Ah yes, that killing off situation…c'mon, don't make me feel any worse than I already do. Honestly, when I first wrote this, I had no idea people would get so attached to the guy. He was just another nice guy in the story. But, you know why, that is , if you read the chapter after. Rita had to leave. Jared could have kept her in Anomina with just one adorable puppy dog look. Everybody loved him, you're not alone in that, and I'm guessing you were trying to express your…sorrow? Confusion? Frustration? Murderous Rage to the Authoress? 

It is a handy way to learn about each other, and to kill the time. The comments do make sense, never fear, and I hope you'll read and review again. Oh lordy, please don't hate me for this one. 

Martha: Yup, I don't think Maria could be sweet as regular girl, let alone a new mother. She does try her best though, poor thing. I guess what Adrian said was sweet, but it seems to me boy do sweet things by accident, Adrian especially. ;) 

Candika: Gee, you're a sweet heart for sayin that. I blush. Thanks so much for the encouragement, and I hope that smiley face will reappear after you read this chapter. 

Alocin: Wow, I didn't know Rita and Adrian were entertaining. To me, they're like little children who can't quite fighting. I suppose it's strange to be calling Rita childish, but oh well. I hope you have another positive review for this, because it's a bit…yeah…crosses fingers and toes! 

Soraia: Oh damn, you have no idea how much I love those movies! Much to the dismay of my sanctimonious parents, but who cares? And guess what? Answering reviews and eating chocolate at the same time…life is good. Never thought of that complication with the quotes, sorry about that! I know I'm not as efficient as you with updates, but hopefully this hasn't been too long. 

Oli: Heya, wow I have a cousin by the same name…not that you care or anything… ;) Pulling a Houdini would be great and you know what? I've never thought about it before, but you're right. Even though they speak every day, they're not really face to face. Thanks for the idea, which was incorporated in the following. Kyros is bound to be a bit too distracted…well you'll see. Thank you so much for reviewing!

Vague Verity

Chapter 16

****

"The mind has a thousand eyes,

And the heart but one;

~*~*~*~

Winnie was driving to the air port when her cell phone rang. She picked it up, was distracted by the fact it matched her car, and frowned by the name of the caller.

"What do you want?"

"How about going on a mission with me?" Kyros requested politely, quick to the point.

Winnie snorted. "Not likely. I'm on my way to Maria's."

"No room at the Eldsons," he replied. "And, besides, you're not allowed to drive around Manhattan while talking on the cell. It's the law."

"Thank you deputy. I'll be sure to buckle my seat belt and break for animals, except Arctic foxes that happen to come my way. Bye now."

"Wait!" Winnie sighed, and complied. Kyros took a deep breath and pleaded seriously, "Look, it's about Verity."

"What about her?"

Kyros winced, wishing he could avoid the next part. "Um…Nilsson told me that the corpse found a few weeks ago was Bryan Smith. And their bungalow was reserved for two, so…"

Winnie caught on quickly. "How long have you known this?" she asked in a steely voice, and pulled over to a rest stop.

"Um—for a while now—"

"And you didn't _say_ anything?" She never paused for an answer. "Oh my Goddess, Kyros, how the hell could you let your personal feelings get in the way of _this_?" The frustrated witch hit the steering wheel and the horn, startling the cars speeding by her. 

"That's why I'm asking you to go on a mission with me. I've been doing some investigating of my own—"

"With, or without Thierry's permission?"

"Without," he answered curtly. "Look, it's a request from a death bed. You can't refuse a request from a death bed. And Maria said to look for a partner who'd keep me away from a foreign slut."

"But, I was on my way to see her."

"She doesn't want any blubbering," he warned. He heard Winnie sigh again.

"Then I guess I'm not wanted. What did you dig up?" He took that as an unspoken means of consent, and smiled to himself. Kyros envisioned weeks of bickering ahead. 

"Well, I looked into Moorea, and there's not a trace of Rita any where. I'm thinkin' she was kidnapped."

"Brilliant deduction," she commented as she made a U-turn on the high way. "Did you come up with that yourself, or did that handy magic eight ball help you again?"

"Shut up," he ordered pleasantly. "Any way, I went back to Anomina…"

"You didn't burn down the 'Come Back Soon' sign, again, did you? It's wrong to hold a grudge against a whole town."

"Course not." He thought it wise not to mention the charred condition of the "Welcome to Anomina" bill board. "And I found out that what kept Amaro under that bastard's thumb for so long. A deed."

"But we knew that all ready."

"Yeah, but we didn't know where. I tracked Orin, and asked—"

"Asked, or tortured?"

"I think I was reasonable during the interrogation," he answered evasively. But one's patient had a right to run thin after hours of interviewing. "But would you shut the hell up and let me talk? Any way, apparently Amaro owned some land on the Damned Clan Island."

"Who the hell would want land on that ice block?" That was the wonderful, or awful, thing about the Island. No matter what month, no matter what season, at least ten feet of snow separated the visitors from the actual ground. And, the last time Daybreakers arrived, it was as hard as rock. 

"That's what I thought. And seeing that Morta Vitez has been razed to the ground, the best bet is going back to where hell froze over. Still with me?" He would understand perfectly if she didn't want to return. A part of him screamed and begged for him to stay in the States. Nissa had died there, it said. Many of their friends had died there. But most of him remembered that it was a request from a death bed, and nobody could refuse a request from a death bed. 

"So…I gotta buy some snow shoes?"

He smiled, relieved. If he had to relive all the post battle nightmares, at least he wouldn't have to do it alone. "Not if the snow is as hard as I remember it…"

~*~*~*~

New York

They thought she didn't hear. They thought she slept through all the conversations beside her bed, or outside her door. But it didn't matter. She barely had enough strength to tell them to shut their traps any way. And any little sound produced by her would draw some questions on her comfort. Desperately, Maria wished she could just slap them all away.

If they only knew. That it didn't hurt, not so much now. That any discomfort she did have could be tolerated. That, no matter how much they tried, she could see through their jibes and smiles. It would be better if they knew that. 

Or if Rashel knew that Maria was going to leave her play station and Nintendo box to that personification of evil, also known as Timmy, they might be on friendlier terms. Maybe she and Quinn would call more from the mountains.

Or if Mary Lynnette knew that the remaining funds for Maria's college funds would be transferred to hers…she might come into the room more.

Or if Keller knew that all the toys bought for Valdis Junior was being willed away to the second personification of evil, also known as Apollo, they might not have bickered so much.

But she wanted it that way. Well, not exactly that way. A little less arguments would have been nice. But it was better than everybody being all weird, and blubbering over her. God, she hated blubbering. She made a note that Valdis was to make sure that nobody blubbered at her funeral. Not even Gillian, or Iliana, the adorable pieces of fluff. Only the children were allowed to, and then only if necessary. 

The last of her letters were finished and placed under her pillow. Fifteen or twenty by the last count. The world was still in motion outside her windows, despite the stillness within the apartment. And it would go on with or without a Maria Tybal.

There was no Maria duty any more, she was obstinate about that. She needed some privacy. The radio alarm clock said it was a little past one. Not even Valdis would be awake. Her babies maybe, but neither said a sound. 

Maria felt very, very alone. She sighed, and summoned all her strength. A pain shot through her entire body as she leaned over and unplugged the heart monitor. In the long, or short, run of it, she wouldn't need it any more. She was ready to remove the tube from the IV bag when she thought better of it. A heavy ache settled and spread over her body. Better not risk it.

She had heard it today, just down the hall way when they thought she was napping. Nonsense about specialists, and transplants, and the percentages. Lots of people needed heart transplants, and it was selfish and downright immoral to steal one. No amount of praying would get her one, or move her to the top of the list. Maria smiled in the darkness at the irony of it; on her driver's license, she wasn't a donor. She guessed it served her right. Her karma ran over her dogma.

And here they all thought, or fooled themselves into believing, that everything was fine. That their friend would live. Like this was some sort of fairy tale, where people got near death, but managed to avoid it. That was one of the reasons she didn't want them sitting by her constantly.

As she lay silently, waiting for _it_ to come, as she knew _it_ would, Maria reviewed. Verity had often suggested it, saying it helped her with her own problems. But, trouble was, there wasn't much in her life to review. Some noticeable things, like killing people…a lot of people, but that would be a bit too depressing to bring up now. Well, in the time after the discreet murders, she hoped she made up for it. 

The only pity about demanding privacy was the fact that nobody could hear her last words. Maria shrugged. It was fine by her, since she didn't have anything too clever to say any way.

Valdis didn't like have the large empty bed to himself, so he allowed Ash and Mary Lynnette occupy it. For some reason known only to him, he preferred the hardwood floor, just beside Gwen's cradle. Ash had been apprehensive with the thought of sharing a room with two infants, seriously endangering his beauty sleep. Valdis smiled. His children, taking after him and not their mother, were polite with guests. The seldom times they cried, it was during the day and when everybody was up and about.

He reached up and slid his hand through the wooden bars. To his surprise, a smaller, soft hand wrapped around his index finger. Gwen was strong for a week old child. Very strong.

Through the shadows, he looked over to Valdis Junior. He had stopped breathing yesterday. Only the swift and efficient actions of Javier had saved him. Now the tiny chest was jerked off and on his bed by a respirator. Javier assured him it was safe, specially designed, and wouldn't hurt the baby. But the sight of it still hurt Valdis.

The grip on his finger squeezed tighter, demanding his attention again. Valdis rested his elbow in a crook of the crib, so he could remain clasped in his daughter's hand. There was something incredibly reassuring about it. It was absurd to believe that an infant who knew nothing of the world was trying to convey that everything would be okay. Absurd…but nice to think of.

He fell asleep in that position, arm vertical for the sake of his daughter. And, while he slept, he had the most peculiar dream. 

Valdis found himself at Descouedres' mansion, and it was packed. He assumed it was another Labor Day party. The others were dancing, and some times staring, as he cut through the crowd. Searching for something…somebody.

Maria appeared before him, holding a boy five years of age. He was sleeping, his black haired head on her shoulder. Valdis scolded, later he couldn't remember with what words, his wife for bringing their son to the celebration. Maria became defiant and told him to look down.

When he did, he saw he held the hand of a pretty five year old girl, whose bright amber eyes frowned up at him. Her hair fell straight past the shoulders, an indecisive reddish blonde. Valdis felt sheepish and looked back up at Maria.

The little boy was awake. His childish, round eyes smiled at his mother and then his father. Valdis was startled at the identical shade of bluish green. Maria turned away, towards the exit, when Valdis reached for her. Asking her to stay.

Maria shook her head, and playfully ordered him to stay if he wanted to. For some reason, there was the urgent need for her to remain with him, although it wasn't the best place for a child. She shook her head forcefully, murmuring something he couldn't hear over the music. 

He saw a debate would result in nothing, so he tried to give her Gwen, to take upstairs. Again she shook her head, and even moved away from them when Gwen stepped forward. No, she mouthed. No.

Gwen looked from one adult to the other, confused. Seeing her, Maria smiled and stepped forward to kiss the top of her head. Then she took another step back, despite Valdis' pleas to either stay, or take Gwen with her. 

The music abruptly stopped, but the dancers continued in their trance. The silence was deafening. Then he heard Maria say, gently, but firmly, "It's all right. This way you get one, and I get one. It's like the Parent Trap."

He was about to retort that he had never seen the movie when Gwen, the real Gwen, cried loudly. She had never cried like that before, he thought as he wriggled out of the sleeping bag. Shrill, urgent screams pierced the night and Valdis scrambled up to her, which was difficult because his arm had fallen asleep. 

"Christ," Ash said grumpily, "I thought you said they didn't cry."

"We weren't sleeping any way," Mary Lynnette replied mischievously. If not for the infant clamor, Valdis would have found that fairly disturbing. 

But Valdis wasn't listening. As he stood, trying to rock Gwen back into silence, he remembered the dream.

Oh god. The dream. 

"Turn on the lights," he ordered, panicked. He rushed to the far corner of the room, where his son lay. 

"What for—"

"Just do it," Valdis demanded, frantically working at the plastic handles to open the container that held Valdis Junior. He had only one hand to do it, as Gwen wailed steadily in his other arm. "For god's sake," he murmured, desperate. Mary Lynnette kneeled beside him and pushed his hand away, opening it herself. Ash switched on the lights.

Valdis Junior's chest wasn't rising up and down. His body wasn't being racked by the respirator. He wasn't moving at all. His son wasn't supposed to have enough strength to roll on his side. That was why the tube wasn't taped down to his bare skin.

"Holy shi—" Ash began, eyes wide, at the sight of the still tiny body, when Valdis leapt over the bed and knocked him against the door.

"Everybody up," he hollered urgently as he slid down the hall. "Everybody get up!" The door to Maria's room had been closed. God, who the hell closed it?

When he broke through, he noticed there was only one sound: Gwen. No beeps, not even a flat line. No heart beats, not one breath. "Javier," he thundered. "Javier, get in here! _Now_!"

It was no use. He didn't bother to turn on the lights, and almost tripped over Ceberus. Maria looked like she was sleeping. There was a folded piece of paper in her hands, and she smiled as if dreaming.

Oh god. Oh god.

She wasn't sleeping. 

"Maria," he called loudly, causing Gwen to cry more. "Maria…damn it…" Hurriedly, his eyes scanned the mess of wires and cords surrounding her, trying to figure where the hell everything went after she had pulled them out.

Javier appeared, disheveled, at the door way and out of breath. Valdis saw him and started towards him. "Hurry up, what the fuck are you standing there for? Do CPR, something—"

"I can't," he yelled back.

"Why the hell not?" Gwen's shrieking filled the tense pause.

"Because she's dead," Javier stated severely. "I'm sorry. It looks like it's been a while—"

"No," Valdis cut in, just as resolved. "No, she's not. I just spoke to her five minutes ago—"

"It must have been a dream," the midwife said reasonably, stepping towards them. "Valdis…Gwen's crying."

Valdis clenched his jaw, and looked at his wife. Pretty, peaceful, smiling Maria. Secretive, selfish, smiling Maria. That smile…she knew what was going to happen. And she hadn't called for him. She had always been stupidly independent. 

His reaction was natural, and not surprising. But before another fury driven hole could have been punched into the wall, Gwen shrieked again, presumably terrified by the noise of her father's anger. Valdis stared at the baby in his arm and his clenched fist, unsure of his next actions. Nothing besides Maria halted his ire before. He didn't know what to do without his soul mate. He was lost.

As he stood there, hopelessly silent, Ash braved the stillness to point out Maria's note. 

The folded piece of paper in her hand had his name on it. Ignoring the pleading midwife, he took quick strides to Maria, and snatched the note away. And after only a few seconds of reading, he laughed as embarrassing tears began to flow down his face, and onto his daughter.

"Valdis?" Ash asked, uncertainly as he stepped inside the room. The others hovered near the door way, afraid to enter. Not many men took the death of their soul mate too well. Valdis' back was turned to all of them, facing only the windows and Maria. 

At the sound of his name, the taller vampire turned around, eyes bright with tears. He cleared his throat at the sight of his guests. With a wry smile, he held up the note.

"She told me to take care of the children. Very first line too." Valdis accepted the tissue Ash offered, and wiped his face, embarrassed. "Here it is, Ash. 'Valdis. For god's fucking sake, stop blubbering and take care of the baby.' Sounds like Maria, doesn't it?"

Ash nodded, immensely relieved to see he wasn't suicidal. As Valdis made his way out of the room, Ash called, "You're not going to hold it all in and then blow up later on, are you? It's not healthy. Mare said so."  


"No," the father said tiredly. "I just need to feed Gwen right now. Later, I'll let it all out. But not in front of all my guests." Valdis returned with a bottle and faced the stunned crowd. Sabrina was biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, and Valdis frowned at her. "Sabrina. Maria wrote that no blubbering was allowed."

Sabrina let out a choked sob. Mary Lynnette's blue eyes began to water, and just as Ash hugged her, a whimper escaped her throat. Others began, unsuccessfully, to control the weeping. _For_ _god's sake_, Valdis thought, _they were laughing a few hours ago._ Finding it unbearable, Valdis broke away, to phone the Drache's, Martha, and the Snows. And then Thierry. To report Circle Daybreak's first loss since the Final Battle.

And, at daybreak, as he promised, he let it all out. 

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked in a desperate whisper. Half of him wished she would answer. Never mind the fact that it was impossible, not to mention disturbing if she did. If the only words dropped from those chilly lips were hateful, Valdis would have died to listen to them. To hear that voice, to see those fiery eyes. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked again, this time to himself. He knew he'd have help. All guests volunteered to stay and help out. But they, in hundreds or thousands, would not equal one Maria Yolken Tybal Eldson.

Beside Maria's cold, smiling body, he let the tears fall freely. Valdis resolved they'd meet again some day. Become a whole family. And if there was a Supreme Being out there who decided otherwise, he would just have to be dealt with violently. Nobody would keep them separated forever. 

They had placed Valdis Junior in the crook of her arm. Valdis was content to simply stare at the most beautiful woman and boy he had ever seen, while the world went on without them, never knowing its loss.

~*~*~*~

He had left for a few hours, finding that his answer transformed her speaking abilities into purely monosyllabic. In his own cell, Adrian slept lightly, just in case she might call for him. And, during what felt like the next day, he heard his name being called softly.

He was by the hole in a second. "Yes?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound to eager. After all, they had both declared they didn't like each other.

"I've been thinking," she began in her normal, rational way, "about what you said."

"That I didn't like you? Well, that might have been—"

"No," she interrupted, still sounding very sensible. Not at all flustered by the resurfacing of that uncomfortable subject. "About these bricks."

Adrian leaned away, disappointed. They developed a blood boiling argument, he accidentally charmed her, and the girl just had to go and think of bricks. He would never understand her.

"You said," Rita continued, deaf to his irked rambling, "that they were enchanted. That you couldn't break free."

"Yup." Where was she going with this?

"Can magic rot?"

"Er…I've never been asked that question—"  


"Can magic go away?" she persisted. "Fade away after a while, if not maintained?"

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But I don't think we can wait while all the bricks expire. Well, I can. You can't."

"What about the bricks now?"

"You know, I never claimed to be omniscient or anything—"

"Stop joking around. What about the bricks now?"

"I don't think they'll start to go bad any time soon, if that's what you're thinking. I'm not sure if they've even started."

He heard Verity sigh irritably. "Of course they have."

"Right, like a ver—human would know more about it than me."

"Adrian," she began, with exaggerated patience, "the bricks are going bad. How else would this, and other, holes in the wall would be possible?"

He sat, speechless. The hole in the corner floor of his room, the one in the corner below it… "Damn it," he grumbled.

"Try not to swear, it shows bad upbringing. I'll just leave you that bit of information, and you think of a plan. I'm taking a nap now, so—"

"Can I come in and we'll plan together?"

"No," she refused sternly. "Now go back to your cell and think about what you should do."

"Yes, mother," he mocked as he rose from the floor. He appreciated her clever observations, but damn. Did she have to be so smug about it?

~*~*~*~

Boston

Winnie and Kyros stood at the large garage entrance of the hangar, not exactly certain of their next actions. The guards and crew man had already been dispensed. The duo hadn't killed them, of course, but through out the hangar, pleasantly slumbering bodies were scattered. Their luggage and weaponry waited at their feet. Before them sat three very, _very_, unguarded planes. 

"So…" Winnie began, unsure, "we're just going to _take_ them?"

Kyros shrugged and lit a cigarette. "Um…well, we can't tell Thierry. He'll kill us. Besides, we're only taking one." 

Besides, there was always the chance they wouldn't have to fulfill this rescue. If Maria just survived the next few hours; Javier had said the prognosis was optimistic.

"But to steal from the boss, from _him_ of all people—"

"Lordy," he exclaimed, a word he had picked up from Maria. "You know Thierry doesn't want anybody going back to that island. He hates it. And he don't want us to remember or anything. So, we can't tell him."

"_Ever_?"

"I'm startin' to think blonde is your natural color," he observed dryly. "Of course we'll tell him. After we complete the mission, we'll phone him, or something. Use the radio and what not." Kyros shrugged nervously and with one hand grabbed all four cases. "No use sittin' around. Let's go."

"I _am_ a natural blonde," she said hotly, running after him as he loaded one of the planes. Just as they settled into the cockpit, Kyros' cell began to beep. 

"Oh my Goddess, what's that? What did you press?" she asked, panicked. Kyros raised an eyebrow and held up the Nokia. She obviously didn't believe him when he told her Nilsson had taught him to fly. Winnie waited impatiently, making sure the seat belts were secure, as he listened to the caller. But the call went on, and on, and on…

She was in the middle of the C's during her Let's-name-all-spells-in-alphabetical-order game when Kyros sighed heavily and ended the conversation. His hand shot up and flicked his cigarette out an open window. He didn't look towards her when she glanced questioningly. Instead, he turned sharply to the left, still facing his window.

"What is it?"

There were a few beats of silence until he cleared his throat. With a distracted frown, he faced forward and began to start the plane. "Maria died," he told her quietly.

Winnie, who had been very tense, leaned slowly back into her chair. "When?"

"This morning," he answered shortly, still fiddling with buttons and then started steering. "She knew she was gonna, and wrote everybody little notes. Didn't tell anybody though, which pisses Thierry off. He thinks he coulda done something, if he had known. I think her not telling anybody pissed off a lot of people."

"How can you be so calm about it?" she snapped, swallowing the lump in her throat. The dark look he sent in response hushed her for a while. And as they slowly moved down the run way, audible sniffles came from his right passenger.

He stopped the plane. The Arctic Fox turned to her, with a serious expression she had never witnessed before. "I know you're sad. I am too. But if you're going to bawl from here to the island, and even after we land, I can't work with you."

Winnie stared, shocked. Finally, she collected her wits and unbuckled her seat belt to lean forward. The witch was beyond furious. "You heartless bastard—"

"Shut up," he told her brusquely. "You remember how it was, Winnie, after the Battle. Nobody had time for tears. We just had to get back out there and try to save the ones still living. And if you heard about your dead girlfriend, you didn't have time to cry, because there others who were still breathing that needed our help. And I'm sorry if you think I'm being heartless, and maybe I am, but I can't work with somebody who doesn't have her mind on the job. Got it?"

"For Goddess' sake," she breathed, her eyes flashing, "Maria's dead. You still want to go on the mission even when the one girl who saved everybody just died."

"I made her a promise," he stated coldly. The witch had no idea how it ached, how it burned to stay on the plane. She had no idea—yes, Maria died. And that was the strongest reason to go. If Maria survived, Kyros would have sent somebody else to face the wrath of Verity. Any sort other sort of promise, he would have put off. "It was a death bed promise. Now, are you going to stop crying and focus, or are you going to weep and get off this plane? I can do it by myself."

Winnie leaned back into her seat, arms crossed, to study him. Then she turned the chair, and rebuckled the seat belt. "The hell you can."

~*~*~*~

He hated wakes. Valdis thought, although it was his first one, wakes were the worst thing in the world. The only thing that kept it from being worse than hell was little Gwen, who laughed at the sight of every new stranger.

He stood near the entrance, greeting the Daybreakers, college class mates, and that one, suspicious aunt. All fawned over Gwen, declaring she was the most adorable baby ever…as long as he didn't repeat that to Keller, they warned.

Then the Draches arrived. Apollo had already been babbling when the door opened, but at the sight of Gwen, the little boy began to stomp and jump at Valdis' feet. Through the unintelligible words, Valdis guessed he wanted to hold his daughter, and, quite rightly, refused.

Most of them were late, because the funeral home was hard to find and parking was hell in New York City. After he greeted the last guests, he personally directed some selected few to a certain table, where their notes lay. Most, he observed, were brought to tears by the contents, whatever they were.

As he wove through the crowd, on his way to the front to start the ceremony, Valdis knew they wondered about him. Even a toddler lamia would have heard the thoughts Maria's friends exuded. Puzzlement, suspicion, and anger as to why he hadn't dissolved into a puddle of tears. Sympathy and pity from the gentler, nicer guests. Worry from those who heard him say, quite confidently, that they would be reunited again. Of course, Valdis hadn't meant any time soon. 

Fact was he felt sort of strange. As if recovering from a permanent injury. The body was the same, his mind was still the same, but almost irreparably broken. Valdis knew instinctively this was how it felt to be alone after being complete for so long. It felt vaguely of the old days before Maria, except…sadder. 

But, if he behaved, and Gwen behaved, there was a chance to reunite. Not in heaven, because Valdis didn't believe in that Purgatory, heavenly bodies crap, but some place nice would do. 

But most, whatever their feelings, understood that he would deal with it in a nonviolent way, after they all left. When and if he wept, it was done out of sight and hearing. Valdis waited impatiently, and mostly not listening, as Maria's priest droned on. In her letter, Maria ordered him to be nice to Father O'Baley, despite what Valdis thought of religion. So not once did he, or Gwen, interrupt the sermon, though both were dying to.

Then left the clergy, and friends remained. All eyes turned on Valdis as he walked up to the podium, and refused to relinquish the baby. Of course, he wasn't cheerful about the situation, but, as cheesy as it was, at peace. Maria was fine, he was sure of that.

Valdis realized he had been staring at the blank top of the podium and met the faces in the crowd. Thierry and Hannah. Delos and Maggie. Hugh and…Kestrel? Ash, of course, and Mary Lynnette. Quinn and Rashel even returned from the mountain cabin, bringing Timmy with them. Others, all waiting. 

Not at all hurried, he pulled his letter from his pocket and unfolded it, while Gwen stared around curiously. Clearing his throat, he began:

"All right, I'm just gonna read what Maria wanted to tell you…where is it…here: 'Well, guys, if you haven't figured it out, I'm dead now. Just hope I get into heaven. And don't start saying crap about of course I will and blah, blah, blah…Let's face it. The only thing I had going for me was virginity before marriage and we all know how _that_ turned out'." 

He paused, surprised, when the mourners laughed. He finished the contents and was about to call it a day when Ash discreetly informed him that it was customary to let the others speak.

"Why?"

Ash shrugged. Their old home, the Night World, hadn't been much for mourning, or crying in public for that matter. "I guess to let the others get if off their chests." Valdis reluctantly consented, and allowed Ash to tell the others.

When the others weren't paying attention, and that Georgian aunt finally left him alone, Valdis apologized to Gwendolyn, profusely. He had promised to take her to Central Park, and show her where her mother fed the ducks. Gwendolyn Hannah took it rather well.

Valdis sat in the last row, while his daughter slept, as the others gave their eulogies. Stories consisting of her less than friendly attitude were abundant. Stories from Daybreakers, of course, had to be edited so her college peers wouldn't have been suspicious. As well as he knew her, he had no idea there was so much to tell. Even Delos Redfern, of all people, became choked up as during his very brief reminiscing. Valdis smiled to himself, knowing Maria would have paid millions to see the infamous Redfern cry.

After the pallbearers had done their duty for both Maria and Valdis Junior, and the caravan had made it to the graveyard, Valdis found himself standing near the head stone while the black clad guests lined up to give condolences. On Maria and Valdis' caskets lay a mountain of flowers. Some Daybreakers, with sad eyes and sad smiles, told him it would be all right. He guessed they were the ones who already lost their other half. Ash said nothing but shook his hand, while Mary Lynnette told them they'd be leaving that afternoon. 

Valdis appreciated that because Ash, and the other former Night World citizens, understood that Eldson men were durable, the last living one especially. Quinn simply nodded, understanding. Delos gave his shoulder a small squeeze, with a smirk he usually directed towards Maria. But when the usually glib Sabrina approached, Valdis didn't know what she was saying exactly. 

It was difficult to comprehend the choked gurgles and gasps, but he was sure it was nice any way. He understood why she sobbed so hard, of course, but he didn't understand why she stood in front of him for twenty long minutes, simply babbling and, in a word, blubbering. Listening to Apollo would have been easier. Maria, he knew for a fact, would have rolled her eyes and pushed the witch away. 

Morgead Blackthorn and Jez were after her, Morgead looking a little amused by Sabrina's melodrama. Nothing was exchanged besides sympathetic smiles. Poppy, as expected, cried a river, but did so beautifully as James shook both Valdis' and Gwen's hands. The three Redfern sisters, or as Ash called them, the she-Hulks, politely gave their sympathies, and Hugh cheerfully said that he understood what Valdis was going through, and to call him if he ever wanted to talk. _Not likely_, Valdis thought. 

The college peers were quicker than the Daybreakers in saying their good byes, because Valdis had met none of them, and most had heard of his beating of Maria's mythology professor. 

Then, when he thought all were done and he could finally go home and feed Gwen, Thierry returned, a surprisingly foreboding look in his eyes. Beyond him, Valdis saw Hannah waiting in the car, which was the last out of the lot.

"I just got a phone call," Thierry informed him icily.

"Good indication the batteries are working," Valdis told him politely, but still confused, as he jiggled Gwen in his arms.

"Why, again, did Kyros and Winnie miss the funeral?" he prompted. Valdis was mildly alarmed, and struggled to remember what alibi Maria had cooked up for those two.

"Um…something about…emergency…" Even Gwen laughed at her father's panicked expression. If only Gwendolyn knew that it was impossible to remain calm when the Daybreak leader get _that_ look on his face. 

"It's been reported that one of my planes has been stolen from my hangar in Boston."

"You should invest in locks then." 

"My men had been knocked out with sleeping serums, and then bound and gagged."

"Those robbers are anything if thorough."

"By a witch and shifter."

"What a coincidence."

"Valdis!" Thierry's voice never raised, but there was a noticeable increase in anger. He hated to grill a man so newly vulnerable, but this was important. "Where are Winnie and Kyros?"

Finally, with both the steely gaze of the Elder, and the expectant gaze of Gwendolyn, Valdis sighed in defeat. "Damned Clan Island," he murmured. Thierry swore savagely and rushed back to his car.

"What's the matter? What's happened?" Hannah asked, concerned.

"I'm going back to the Island. We'll go to the hangar as planned, but you'll wait for Nilsson to pick you up, while I fly out, okay?"

Of course it wasn't just okay, to be dropped off and abandoned like a sack of potatoes. But Hannah sensed that Thierry had proper reason for this calm fury and agreed softly. 

~*~*~*~

There wasn't a speck of color any where. She had never noticed it before, maybe because she had always been in the thick of things, but the Damned Clan Island was eerily silent, and utterly blank. Nothing but the glittering hills of snow filled her vision. The sun was lost in the dull, white overcast. Even their tent and equipment were white.

"It would really suck if she wasn't there, wouldn't it?" she asked idly while he set them up.

"Yeah."

"But—"

"Be quiet. Do something besides bother me right now." There was nothing to see…until Kyros pointed out their target. He learned it was a convenient way to shut her up.

Winnie set down the binoculars but, as if she couldn't resist it, picked them up and looked through. She sat, freezing of course, at the entrance of the tent while Kyros built a fire in front of her. 

"And why couldn't we sleep there after the Battle? That's the best castle I've ever seen!"

"Put all interior plans aside, Martha Stewart," Kyros answered. "Pre-Battle, it was on the Night World's side of the island. Post Battle…Thierry doesn't like it."

"And why not? Look at that architecture, the towers…the stained glass windows…"

"That's where some of the tortured went." Winnie looked at him blankly, waiting for him to continue. Kyros sighed and said, "You know, the traitors to the young Night World went here, right? Well, some was forced to barracks out in the cold, and some inside that castle."

"Well, who lived there?"

Kyros had obviously done his homework. "The ones in charge of them. Aradia said that it was better to be in the icy barracks than inside. If you were sent to the snow shanties, at least you got certain and probably quick death. But, if sent inside the castle…the only definite thing was long torture. Sometimes for years."

"And Thierry didn't let us stay there for that? Hell, I could have withstood a few ghosts."

"Thierry didn't want us to waste perfectly good, new tents. And he didn't like the history of that place. Plus, it was probably unstable years ago."

"Looks fine to me," Winnie contradicted, and looked through her binoculars again. "If I ever buy a house, I want one exactly like that. A white castle."

"You do realize that's a restaurant chain, don't you?" Winnie picked up a twig and flicked it to Kyros' forehead. "Any way, it was locked."  


"How do you know? We were all training the second we arrived till the Battle." Kyros shook his head and laid down, the cold not affecting him. They both watched as his tobacco smoke hung, and seemingly froze in the air before disappearing.

"Thierry sent me to investigate it…I came earlier than expected," he explained. "Me and Nissa came a few days early. So me and her was supposed to see if any weapons could be collected, but it was locked. We couldn't even break in the door."

"You and Nissa went to the Night World side of the island? She never told me that." He shrugged. The name was only said twice, but it was the first time he purposely mentioned his girlfriend to any one else, in a steady conversation. 

"Let's go to sleep," he suggested tersely after dinner. "We're going to try and break in tomorrow morning."

"But, if you and Nissa couldn't, what makes you think we can?" she called to him after she entered the tent. Kyros remained outside, extinguishing, and burying the fire. 

"Because, you know magic… I'm gonna go check around, okay?" Without waiting for her consent, Kyros walked away and decided he was going to enjoy the snow the best way he knew how. A few feet from the camp site, he shifted. A large snow white fox began bounding towards nowhere, so fast there was no time to leave tracks in the snow.

Then he stopped, and sniffed the ground. Numb, but not from the cold, he shifted back to his two legged form. Here was where Nissa died. Here was where they had found her body, but left it to save the others. She was gone, long gone, and properly buried…but he could still see her, strangely enough. The beautiful vampire was still with him, and he could still see her hard expression while fighting, eyes flamed…just as Maria's had been. Maria had been just as fiery, just as tough.

He missed them. The sun finally sunk below the horizon, abandoning them to darkness. He missed them.

They would have not wanted another fiery gaze to die. Kyros' mind was now torn between the women who should have been alive, and the one just a few miles off who still was. 

~*~*~*~

****

Yet the light of a whole life dies,

When the love is done." 

Francis William Bourdillon

That was mean of me. I didn't even warn you, like I did with Jared. I'm sorry. If you'd like an explanation, just ask in your review. Please be kind. I think I've run out of chocolates and money. 


	17. Vital Somethingelses

General Note: That's right a general note. It's been a while. 

First of all I had been meaning to kill Maria off for some time. You know how they say write what you know? Well, when I wrote her, I knew me. But there was just too much of me in her and that made her a…anybody? Anybody? She was Mary Sue, and I realized that way too late. So, according to the rule, Mary Sue's must either be changed (which she was. I was never pregnant… or really that bitchy nowadays) or die. And looky, I followed the rule! But, her death also served a purpose, because, contrary to popular belief, I really don't like killing people off for no reason. 

Second of all, I know it's been a long time I've updated. The reason is this (and I think it's actually a good reason, and that's why I'm sharing): I've spent the time moping. Imagine working twenty five hours a week with the rudest customers in the world for six months for the greatest Spring Break you've ever had…and have it canceled. My week in Paris, the sole proof that I can do things without my parents help or money has collapsed, due to this political mess going on. Whatever your political standings maybe, I am totally and completely crushed. Has anybody reading this been to Paris? Is it nice? I'm desperate for details now that I'm not seeing it myself.

Any who I've been meaning to update, but I swear either God is either giving me signs that I'm meant to go or he's taunting. It's apparently freakin' France documentary week on TV and my place of work has set up a crappy little France table, full of products bearing sights of Paris. And then, oh, and THEN, school field trip?! Impressionist France Exhibit! What the freakin' hell? I spent six hours listening to a tour guide named Nan Tucker (I swear that was her name) say, "If you ever go to France," or "When you have the chance to see Paris…" Yeah, that made me feel a whole lot better. See, I think I'm still bitter.

And I know it's incredibly selfish to be thinking like this in the grand scheme of things, so you needn't tell me. But, for right now, I'm sticking to my small, not-so-grand scheme of things. Also, I'm sorry for dumping this on y'all, but I'm a ranter. I like to rant. Don't get me started on pop artists. All right, that's it. Maria was selfish and had to die and I'm selfish and feel like dying. 

Thank you and enjoy.

****

Neona-deniker: That's right, no more mystery solving for you…I tried to read a Nancy Drew book, but I fell asleep. Go figure. Any who, you're ten times better than me at summarizing. You could be a blurb writer! And isn't it strange that she gets all nice AFTER she dies. That girl did love her irony. And, to be fair, you have to give Gwen some credit—after all, it was her who stopped him from making sobbing and/or angry Hulk mess of a man in front of the others. Sometimes, I think it would be nice if they were real. I'd steal planes from Thierry every day. But enough about larceny, I'm glad you're back to review! Yay!

Dahlia: I guess if you're a new reviewer you might learn that I don't hurry up with the next chapter. It's not that I don't want to, it's just I'm either lazy or busy. But, hey, thanks for the sweet review!

****

Martha: Well, if that wasn't a paradoxical saying…saw it coming but didn't expect it. And, when you say you still got verity, do you mean the person or the actual truth? I just thought that was funny. Thanks for the review, though! :0)

Lilith: Yes, yes, all very tragic…but she was a bit irritating, wasn't she? I mean, lots of reviewers complained of her less than niceness, but oh well. As for the dream…I've decided to leave that to the readers. For real or not, it was still very nice and it comforted him either way. And I'm sorry that I did make you wait (for a stupidly long time) for this one. Happy reading. 

More than u know: Yay, back and non-hateful, both very good things! Of course, and if you're wondering how it would have ended if Rita stayed and Jared lived…Mr. and Mrs. Jared Luna with their five children is basically it. And I guess my story isn't the kind where happy miracles happen, huh? Oh, the lil note just meant I was depressed without choco and money, and the other part was Maria had to die because she was selfish manifestation of a character. I guess I've updated good enough-ish. ;0)

Alocin: Oh, please don't be shocked. That tells me that I didn't foreshadow enough. And, even though I shamefully did surprise you with it, I'm eternally grateful you still have a good opinion of it. And, okay, you like Kyros. Join the club ;0). And, I know this wasn't soon, but I do have my reasons. I hope you read this and I hope you enjoy.

Candika: Yes, I did. I think a resurrection scene would please you, but where does one find a Frankenstein lab in New York City? Any who, I'm just as pleased as you are about Winnie and Kyros' unlikely friendship. That's right; FRIENDship. Honestly, can't a boy and girl be friends without any speculation? Ah, the age old question… Any who, nopers. Sorry, if you were hoping for that, but I don't think I could manage any more distractions this late in the story. Besides, remember, Winnie was Nissa's friend and that would be awkward for Kyros… so yeah. Thanks any way for the winky smiley face at the end!

Soraia: I didn't know that was a bumper sticker! I just saw it written somewhere! Well, it makes a lot more sense on a car, now that I think about it… And good lord, how do I respond to your extremely nice, extremely generous, unbelievably kind compliment? I mean a "thank you" is obvious (so thank you!) but it just seems to fall short. And you're right that a teenager (like meself) would enjoy your stories, but don't cut yourself short. Like Tala and Monroe, you went really deep with their emotions. And if there's one thing I will NEVER be guilty of, it's rushing on updating. And I guess I pretty much sucked with the connections, because they're pretty weak. Maria's death=Kyros mission, and that's about it. Of course there's the whole psychological and emotional connection in Kyros' head, but he's too manly to express it. I've never set a standard before and I'm glad I did it so easily (so easily I had no idea I did it) but thanks, thanks, thanks again.

Oli: Yuppers, she's is a female. And, that's weird, I've never of a guy named oli…maybe our different parts of the world makes the difference. Yes, I know, pauvre Maria…but Valdis will cope. He'll have to, with a baby to worry about. Maria died of a weak heart stressed by the operation and pregnancy…it wasn't really mentioned, just referred to. Sorry if I didn't make that clear. And I think Winnie wants a boyfriend, not a boy she'd have to baby sit (let's face it, she's miles ahead of him on the maturity scale). You're right the story doesn't **need** more deaths but…well, we'll leave that to the God of Plots, also known as Bob. So any issues with the unexpected turns, I'll just say, "See Bob about that." Any who, Thierry is quite rightly pissed but not enough for homicide, I don't think. Thanks for your approval, and I hope you comment on this on, too.

Vague Verity

Chapter 17

****

"Remember that a kick in the

~*~*~*~

Boston…well, near Boston…

The boat sliced through the black, choppy water, leaving sharp lines and foam in its wake. Thierry Descouedres stood at the wheel, his expression mirroring the unfriendly ocean. Never before had somebody so deliberately disobeyed him. Never before had his own Daybreakers felt the need to sneak behind his back. Most of the time, he approved of proposed missions. Everybody knew that.

The difficult part would be to find the island. Winnie would have seen it and directed Kyros, because of her powers, but Thierry was traveling solo. He just hoped the fading spells Aradia and company worked two years ago were still intact. 

Soon, what looked like a sole floating ice floe entered his view. Faint, and almost translucent. He was relieved that he could still see it, and that most humans wouldn't have been able to. 

He docked as he did two years prior, on the west side of the island. It was where his troops stayed for a few weeks, but there was no sign of life any where. White dunes stretched out to the sun, who had been hesitantly rising. Pushing all worries aside, Thierry grabbed his duffel bag and set one foot on the hellish place. The farther away he got from his boat, the more he wished he was headed the other way.

It wasn't the memories that bothered him. He was thousands of years old; memories weren't a problem after a man found his soul mate. It was the feel of the place. As if the ice cube willed catastrophic things to happen. And anything bad that could have happened, usually did.

"At least we won," he said aloud. But not without complications, and unimaginable casualties. And, sometimes, it sounded as if the island and the wind laughed at their loss. Hunter once said that one never stepped on Damned Clan Island without paying a price. Then again, the idiot was probably being dramatic at the time, and Thierry refused to think any more of it. 

He could have ran, but preferred to simply walk, holding the duffel bag, which held all liquid necessities, from one hand to the other. Something urged him that there was no hurry, that the two would be waiting in their tent.

All he had to do was find the two insurgents, make them extremely ashamed of themselves, complete their mission, and then return home to suspend them indefinitely. On and off the island as quickly as possible.

~*~*~*~

Adrian climbed down the hole in the corner of the room, to the one below it. And then he cautiously crossed that cell to enter the next one, where he and Rita usually spoke. But it sounded as if her sleeping time ran late, for she wasn't waiting for him.

He was about to leave when he heard the slightest, tiniest sniffle echo in the stillness. "Rita?"

Then he heard a small intake of breath, and knew she was holding it in. "Verity, what's the matter?"

"Go away, please," she requested in a whisper. 

He hesitated, and then made an important decision. Disregarding Rita's obstinate rule, he scooted to the hole and peered in without her permission. The only time he had done so was when he had that idiotic fire, and only then he had seen her chin. 

This time, he did not see her face again. Adrian noticed, piqued, that her cell was about half the size of his. She was vermin. They needed more room than dragons, because they had weak minds and couldn't stand enclosed places for a long time. It was one more reason to help her out.

On the cot in the corner, he saw her. Her burlap clad back was facing him. Rita leaned on the wall, hugging her knees. Her shoulders shuddered almost imperceptibly.

"Verity," he called gently. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"I don't want to," she said quietly, her voice hoarse. "Just please, leave me alone. Don't look at me."

"Why?"

"Not like this. Please, Adrian, just go away." Her voice had regained volume, and more force. He was ready to comply when he spied her body racked again, this time what looked like to be a sob.

"Rita, did they hurt you?" he asked, his tone bordering on wrathful.

"No," she whimpered as if she couldn't help it. "No, just please, please, Adrian, just go away."

"Verity, I can—"

"Adrian!" she roared, and whirled to him. Rita stared at nothing, just the place of his voice, and yelled, "Just leave me alone!"

She couldn't see him, but he could see her very well. Rita's eyes were bloodshot, as if she hadn't slept, and glistening with tears. The salty droplets ran down her face, which was contorted in anguish. By all appearances, she hadn't been abused. But it was obvious something caused her immense pain.

Convinced by his silence that he left, she turned away again, trying to calm herself. The despairing noises escaped every so often, followed by rebuking sounds.

Although sure of her anger, her weeping tore the words out of him. "Verity, just tell me what's wrong," he demanded gravely.

He saw her whirl to him, green eyes blazing. "I thought you left."

"Is…is there anything I can do?" he ventured, knowing very well there wasn't much one can do in a prison. "Anything you need to be done?"

She sighed, apparently exhausted by the tears, and turned away. Slowly she shook her head. "Nothing," she murmured. "Nothing at all."

He never thought it would take bravery to enter a room. Adrian would have never believed stepping inside a cell would be fearsome. But it took all the courage he could summon to shift, and silently creep through the opening. To change back to the form she was familiar with, and then stand at the foot of her cot. He was terrified, so much so that he barely breathed, to wait almost a foot away from her. But all fears were forgotten when Rita failed to restrain another sob, and the reproving words were strangled in her throat.

Then he moved without thinking. In a heart beat, he leaned towards her, gathering the girl in his arms as he sat next to her in the bed. For a few seconds, she leaned into him, clinging to him tightly as if she were drowning. And, as awkward the situation was, Adrian was unexpectedly rewarded. 

It wasn't electrifying, or shockingly intimate. Hugging her, comforting her was…nice. It was _pleasant_, holding her for a few moments.

But they were short lived, and with some sputtered, angry words, Rita tried to pull away. Adrian noticed that she was acting like himself again. She didn't want anybody to see her like this, or anybody to sympathize. So she pushed with all her strength and, when that didn't work, she began to beat at his chest desperately. Her watery words begged him to let her go. Those eyes, that so few recognized the beauty of, were pleading and angry at the same time.

Nobody had seen her like this. Nobody had heard her order to leave and stayed. 

In a split second, Adrian resolved to be the first.

Despite the painful strikes she landed, he held tight, his embrace like steel. And, naturally, she struggled even more ferociously, so much that Adrian had a hard time keeping hold of her. The length of her fight surprised him, considering the sparse food and little exercise. But, finally, she went limp and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You stayed," she noticed quietly and, somewhat belatedly. Her voice was incredibly small, not like one belonging to a sixteen year old. He nodded, unsure of what to say, but he knew it was important that he had done so. Staying, when everything else left her. "And…you're inside."

"I would have been in here sooner or later," he said apologetically. "Better sooner than later." He felt strangely disappointed when she pulled away, and repossessed her rational demeanor. The only sign that she wept at all was her wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. Distracted, he pulled out his own handkerchief, and wiped the tears away for her.

"Why were you crying?" He was thankful for the utter darkness, because then Rita wouldn't have seen him flinch at the tone of his voice. Adrian was unused to sounding timid, especially to a girl—a human girl, no less. "I'll find out any way, sooner or later," Amaro warned, thinking of their game of truths.

"And better sooner than later," she agreed, and withdrew even father from him, until she was at the other end of the cot. "You're not going to like it."  


"We never like the answers," he pointed out, imperceptibly creeping closer.

"Right." Her breath shuddered deeply, an after effect of the racking sobs. "Well…aside from the misunderstandings, I've never liked you."

"Sorry to be that much of a pain," he replied flatly, and stopped his quest to her side of the cot. Tired, almost as much as she looked, Adrian leaned on the wall.

"No, it's not that. It's just—just the way you acted, the first time you and Tana met. Your behavior. I've always hated the way you were so domineering, and the way you just switched from friendly to cruel in the blink of an eye. There were so many, _many_ things I've hated about your entire way of thinking during the time we spent together, from what I remember."

"Any thing else? Or did my hair cut displease you as well?"

"Stop it," she ordered, regaining some spirit. "You asked me why I was crying. How would you feel if you found out everything you've hated before…you've suddenly become? Everything I despised about you, all your decisions… I'm like you now, or I used to be. And the thing is, I didn't even think I was wrong."  


"Neither did I," he offered, pitying her.

"I know. It's more than irritating to think that, if you and the Daybreakers hadn't come to Anomina, I might still be acting like you. Cold, domineering, manipulative—"

"I get the picture," he cut in, now uncomfortable. "So…tears of self-loathing?"

"Not exactly," she answered slowly, sounding apprehensive. "It's Melissa."  


"Who?"

"My sister," Rita snapped, as if, because of their link, he should have known. Idly, she folded the handkerchief in her lap, trying to check her irritation. "She could have done so much. Tana always harbored some resentment towards you, for not letting her dance. The one thing that she was really good at."

"So?"

"So—I've just been thinking about Melissa. She was always a great speaker, you know. Cheerleader, debate team…and such a great athlete. And I, the one who was supposed to take care of her…didn't. I didn't get her the speech therapy. I never let her outside." Her words faltered as Rita remembered the seldom seen sad look in Melissa's brown eyes. Verity would see it sometimes, but look away.

"Verity," he called, sensing her sadness. Inwardly, he was surprised for the timing of her mourning. That conversation was dead and buried. She ignored him.

"She—sort of pleaded to me, with her eyes. And I would dismiss it, because I thought I knew better. But, you did the same thing to Tana, and you didn't know better. You didn't, and I didn't—but Melissa won't get a second chance. She's dead and she won't come back. Ever." She was saying the words thickly now, and an ache was growing in her throat.

Through the inky blackness Adrian spied her emerald eyes filling again, indifferent of his view. The handkerchief he handed her was now unfolded, and scrubbed furiously at her eyes. Miraculously, Rita gripped at self control within a few minutes, without the helpful embrace Adrian was ready to offer.

"So," she began, her voice still hitched, "I was just feeling bad about that…but she's probably in heaven, right?" Adrian nodded uncertainly, because he wasn't sure about the existence of that place or its counterpart. Rita didn't see it, but sensed his agreement. "She couldn't have done much to get into hell…and I guess my punishment for my treatment, or lack thereof, is gonna be my next life. Maybe I'll be a fire hydrant…or, worse, a man."

Adrian frowned, but ignored the last part. "Are you all right now?"

"One more thing to get off my chest."

Adrian rolled his eyes and bade her to continue.

"I know I have no reason to and everything's been cleared up…but I still sort of don't like you."

"What?"

"I don't know why," she confessed, squirming uncomfortably. "But I've harbored such a resentment for you for so long that it's sort of—"

"Stubborn to leave? I know the feeling."

It was her turn to feel surprise. "You mean resentment for _me_?"

"Of course. Think about it—for hundreds of years, I've believed that you had been boinking the help. Now, I have to change that idea overnight."

"Do you have to be so vulgar?" she asked crossly.

He sighed. "Do you feel better _now_?"

"Comparatively, yes." She shrugged. "But you didn't have to come in, you know."

"I came in for my own selfish reasons," he consented. Adrian stood up and stretched. Rita scrunched up her face, disliking the sounds of bones popping. "I don't like how you've got a smaller room than me."

"Maybe they figured dragons needed more room."

"Not likely," he replied, following and studying the walls. "It's easier for me to shift into smaller things, but bigger animals, like bears, takes some concentration." Verity frowned, puzzled, in his general direction. If there had been more light, she would have seen his brief flash of teeth. "The downside of not being as horny as my family," he added playfully. 

Her cheeks turned rosy and she looked aside. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer, and continued to circle. Rita, tired of waiting for his answer, laid on her cot, staring at the ceiling. Every once in a while, he glanced quickly towards her, to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep. Each time he was relieved to see Verity lying patiently for him to finish.

Adrian approached the wall that they shared; the wall that held the hole. The coloring was different, he noticed as he ran his fingers over it. Not as rough as the blocks in his cell, but almost cobble stoned. Adrian was about to notice it aloud when he saw Verity's eyes were drooping. He approached her, ready to shake her shoulder, when he realized she had probably been up all night crying. 

So he continued his study. Although it was a small enclosed space, the ceilings were high, almost twice as tall as he was. Must have been the lower levels of the dungeon, he concluded. The blocks were in better condition than his, but…different. Not only differing in color, but size and shape as well. Smaller, squared, not the oblong rectangles in his room. Adrian was, naturally, immune to the temperatures, but he did notice she had good reason to wrap herself so tightly in the blankets. It was much colder here. Whoever imprisoned them obviously had little regard or information of human beings.

"When did you get like this?" It was disgraceful, very disgraceful, that he allowed himself to be startled. The mere, abrupt sound of her voice made him jump. "I'm resuming the game."

"Get like what?" he asked, automatically irked. Any question would lead to an argument, he was sure of that.

"The way you are. When did you transform to obstinate, domineering, narrow minded, inconsiderate Adrian Amaro to smooth talking, half way decent, somewhat reasonable Adrian Amaro?"

"Same way you did," he responded absently. "Over time."

"That's so cheesy. Can't you come up with a better answer?"

"Not unless you want me to lie…I guess it started after you died."

"So…what, did she teach you a lesson, or something?"

"Maybe. You should have let me in sooner."

"Why?" Verity sat up when she heard grunts and scrapes along the wall.

"Because," he called, and it sounded as if he were far up, "then I would have noticed that your cell is an addition. There's lichen on the wall that we shared, and these bricks look newer. It's also deeper…I had to step down to come in."

"So…"  


"So, you're not below other levels of the dungeon, like I was. You're beneath the ground."

"You know, you're speaking English, and I hear you very clearly, and yet I still don't understand what you're saying. What does it mean, for goodness' sake?"  


"If we tried to escape from the doors, or from any other cell, there'd still be the danger of guards throughout the place."

"But, if we escaped from my cell," Verity began, slowly comprehending.

"We'd be clear out of the building," he finished, a smile in his voice. There were more scrapes and grunts; then the cot a shook a little when her soul mate landed on it.

"But what about the magic?" she asked curiously, and rose when she felt him stretch. Despite the darkness, she knew he was meaning to lie down, whether her lap was in the way or not.

"Sloppily done," he answered, terribly condescending, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. It was the most exertion he had done in weeks—months maybe, and it had built up a sweat. "There'd be some extra work, but it won't be impossible to break through them like the other blocks."  


"How long?"  


"A few days, a week at the most—"

"No." Verity kneeled by the bed, by what she hoped to be his head. It would have been embarrassing to speak to his feet. "Adrian, we have to leave as soon as possible."

"But…that would mean I'd have to start right now—"

"Then do it."

"But I'm tired," he whined and felt a sharp punch to his shoulder. "Ow."

"Adrian, get to work. Right. Now." He sighed tiredly and relinquished the cot to its rightful owner.  


~*~*~*~

"The back door? The back door?" Winnie repeated in an angry whisper. "This was your genius plan! The back door?"

They were half crawling through the snow banks, just before the dawn. The cruel wind whipped and whinnied around them, carrying with it hard hitting bits of snow. Kyros would have shifted and ran ahead had it not been for the irate witch following him. "I think we've established that it's the back door," he whispered back, annoyed. "Unless you think it's better for us to waltz up to the front and ring the door bell."  


"But you said you had a plan!"

"I do," he said through clenched teeth. "This is it. Get in through back door, with your powers, find Rita with your powers, and then, with your powers, we'll bust her out of here."

"That's like a bad plot of an eighties movie! Thank you Cheech, and Chong!"  


"Oh shut up, I don't see you doin' any better."

Conversation ran along those lines until Winnie broke through the weak wards and they reached the "back door." Winnie was even more irked when she saw that there was no back door, but a few selected blocks that Kyros was sure she could demolish. The witch stared, angered into silence, and tried to discern whether the fox was serious. Kyros, a bit perturbed by the furiously blank gaze, cleared his throat.

"You know, if you kill me now, there's no guarantee you could get off the island," he pointed out nervously. It made perfect sense, which was a pity, because Winnie had already summoned a sizable sphere of power behind her back. Quickly, she allowed it to fizzle away and then kicked him in the shin. While her partner yelped and jumped around like a demented parrot, Winnie placed her hands on the freezing wall. She ignored the burning frost on that touched her bare skin, and her eye lids drooped in concentration.

When the sharp pain from his leg subsided, and he had finished quietly muttering every obscenity in the English language, Kyros stood, curious, as his partner delved farther into her powers. He caught the word "barrier" from her lips, but otherwise they moved quickly and silently. There was no apparent change in the white wall, and no increasing glow from her hands, as he expected because of movies. Just minutes earlier, she had been complaining of the temperatures as if he had some control over it. And yet, now, Winnie kneeled in the hard, slippery snow. No doubt it would be soaking through the material in a few minutes.

The sun had risen far above the line of the ocean by now, but the pair remained in the shadows. Kyros paced, occasionally checking their security. By the time he wished he had brought some explosives than an incompetent witch, the girl in question backed away suddenly. Kyros, still leaning on the wall, was alarmed to see her abrupt retreat. Winnie gave no indication of what had occurred; instead, she simply stared, unblinking, at the designated entrance.

Kyros opened his mouth to ask what the hell was the matter now when something ridiculously heavy landed on his foot. Before any profanity could escape, Winnie shot up and clamped her hand over his mouth.

"I made it land in the snow for silence," she whispered angrily, close to his ear. "Don't ruin it by yelling your head off."

  
Kyros tilted his head to look over her shoulder—sure enough, six large stone blocks laid in the snow. He waited, impressed, as the witch crawled through the new "back door." And then her voice called out to him, urging him to hurry, for goddess' sake.

"What took you so long?" she asked almost inaudibly when he landed beside her. Winnie could see nothing when she looked around, and the only sound was Kyros' panting. The hole she created would not let in light until sun set, and even then it would have been faint. "Couldn't you fit?"

"If your ass could fit, what makes you think I couldn't? Ouch, that hurt!"  


"Wasn't meant to tickle," she returned snidely. "Now, lead the way."

"I don't know where we're going! That's your job!"

"How, exactly, am I supposed to find her in this labyrinth? You're the shifter, you're the one with the developed sense of smell!"

"Are you trying to say I have a big nose? Ouch! Stop resorting to violence; you're a witch for god's sake, not a werewolf. Show some control."

"Show some intelligence and sniff Verity out," she challenged. "Besides, it's pitch black in here. I can't find my way around."

"Good point," he admitted, scratching his head. "But it looks like we're in the dungeon—good place to start. Unless they're in one of the towers. Besides, I can't sniff her out; we haven't been in the same room in months."

"So what do we do, Einstein?"

"Explore, you…witch. _Ow_, for god's sake what was that for? It's what you are!"

"Oops," she replied sweetly. "Accident. Now, lead the way, will you? We can't stay here forever."

~*~*~*~

Thierry caught sight of the tent miles before he reached it. He increased his pace to a sprint, and reached the shelter in a matter of seconds. The white tarp already had a thin sheet of frost over it. Any insulting word he then uttered for the pair was lost in the howling wind, and he was angered to find nobody in the tent. The essentials were still there, but he noticed with alarm that any possible weapons were gone. Expression darkening, he quickly pushed aside the flaps, and stepped out to meet the challenging gales. And then he saw it.

"Oh damn," he said softly to himself. The castle. The deceptively peaceful place that held centuries of torture; a home to no one but pain. And, by the fading scent, he could tell that the fools, trained by the most sensible people on earth, had found a way in. The elder wanted very much to wring his hands around both their necks.

But, to do that, he would have to enter the castle himself.

"Damn."

~*~*~*~

"You're a slave driver," he called down resentfully. "You realize that, don't you?"

"Nobody likes a whiner. How's it going?"

"I've scoured away about half the length of two blocks. My hands hurt."

"Two blocks? That's it? But you've been working for hours." Adrian was standing in a foot hold he had scraped away before he was set to work. He wasn't so happy with the progress either. 

"I don't see you doing anything," he muttered under his breath. But the cell, with its awful size and awful darkness, had surprisingly good acoustics.

"I don't see you doing anything either," she answered cheerfully. "It's very dark."

"Well, just wait a few more hours, and you'll see some light." He stiffened when he felt a hand grasp tightly onto his ankle. They both paused, holding their breath. There were noises just outside her door. Foot steps.

Verity's eyes widened when she remembered the food. The guards came every so often with a stale loaf of bread…but this time the door opened. She didn't see it, because even in the corridor there was not a speck of light, but heard the rusty moans of the hinges. Her breath caught in her throat, right around the same region her heart climbed to. 

The man barked out a question, in a heavily accented voice. She guessed he was Asian, but she had never spoken or listened to one before. Deciphering the words was difficult for a few minutes. It was only when she felt the stranger was dangerously close that her mind scrambled to make sense of it. Who was she talking to?

"Um…myself." She smothered the sigh of relief she hadn't realized she had been holding in. _Adrian must have disappeared_, she deduced when she heard the guard search the area thoroughly. Then she felt something hard and flaky hit her arm, and heard the heavy door slam angrily.

"I'll kill him," she heard whispered violently from the man who materialized next to her on the cot. "I recognize him; put me to sleep that one. I'll tear that bastard to shreds."

"You can't," she pointed out reasonably, trying to slow her racing heart. "It will make the others investigate. They won't check on your cell, will they?"

"No," he answered, noticeably calmer. He sounded distant again, and Rita was pleased to find that he was diligently at work. "They think I'm still asleep. Neither of us have guards at our door. But," he began, sounding happy, "their underestimation of us will be their downfall." Which, Rita surmised, was probably Saddam Hussein's motto. Then she lingered on Adrian's earlier words.

"You mean they haven't fed you?" she asked, alarmed, as small pebbles and dust fell to the floor. Adrian made a vague negative sound and brushed some of the debris from his shirt. "But aren't you hungry?"

"Not really," he answered nonchalantly. Rita bit her lip; dragons were more complex than she thought. A tiny bit of guilt crept into her stomach. He hadn't eaten in weeks, but he consented to work nonstop for hours. Just because she wanted it that way. "Don't worry about it," he called down. "Father had endurance lessons like this all the time. No food for at least two weeks. Three if grumpy."  


"Why? That's so…so barbaric."

"No it's not." He still spoke casually, but Rita sensed an undertone that warned her not to insult his family. "Builds up strength for a dragon with just three horns." 

"Adrian, you can rest now."

He nearly slipped out of the foot hold. "What? But, two minutes ago, you wanted me to—"

"Never mind now. Just go to your cell and sleep for a bit."

Adrian jumped down and studied her. "Are you sure? What did I do now?" He backed away when he saw the emeralds flash warningly. "On second thought, a nap would probably be a good thing. I'll be back in an hour." 

As he made his way to his own room, he mused over their bizarre, to say the least, relationship. He wondered about what exactly he wanted out of it as he pulled his shoes off and plopped onto the cot. Maybe Rita was right. Maybe soul mates didn't have to live together; maybe they didn't have to marry. The rules about it had been drilled into his head since he was a boy. 

"But father didn't know my soul mate would be a human," he said aloud. He was sure father would have allowed an exception just this once. Marriage to a witch, or worse, a vampire, father would have hated. Adrian shuddered to think what the dragon, with five horns, would have done to see his youngest son married twice to a vermin. 

He didn't want a relationship, and neither did Verity. Just to be on easy terms. They were on that road now. Complacently, he smiled to the ceiling. He was glad she was more reasonable this time around. Tana would have pouted or cried by the way they bickered. Still smirking, as if he were responsible for the change, the dragon drifted off the sleep.

~*~*~*~

"Tana?"

They were in the great hall, and she sat sullenly at the end of long table. But where she sat, or where they were, wasn't important. What was important was why were they here?

He approached her cautiously; the distance between them seemed endless. Adrian called repeatedly, louder than the previous, but she did not look up. The only thing he saw of her was her black hair, tightly braided and plaited; her face was turned away.

"Gitana," he said darkly. "Answer me."

Oddly enough, she did not cringe at his tone. His wife remained a statue, staring at nothing. After an eternity, in a hollow, lilting voice, she murmured, "It's different now. Old."

"What is?" he asked, irritated. It felt as though, no matter how many steps he took, the space between them remained fixed. For the first time, Adrian glanced around him. It _was_ old. Their walls were dusty, dirty, and the air felt stale and thick. Far above, the chandelier gave little light, and the few rays that reached them were ghostly. It was their home but…not their home.

When he turned his attention to Tana again, Adrian was startled to see that he had finally reached her. A few more steps…he didn't want to take them. She was different, somehow…older.

Against his better judgment, he put one foot forward.

And the floor gave into the pressure. Surprised, he looked down and saw something plush and ragged under his foot.

Adrian bent and swiftly grabbed the broken toy.

"This is yours."  


Gitana, whose features had been mysteriously obscure, finally raised her head and turned to him. God, she was as pretty as he remembered. Delicate nose, passionate mouth, wondering eyes—

Green eyes.

"No it's not," she stated. Jaded, green eyes.

"Yes, it is," he argued distractedly and drew nearer. It wasn't Tana, but it was Tana. "Your good luck doll."

She eyed the thing in his hand disgustedly. Her lips—once so sweet and guileless—twisted as if the mere sight of it gave a bad taste in her mouth. Her piercing gaze rose from the neglected object to the man holding it. Utter contempt swam in them.

"Didn't really work, did it?"

He wanted little Tana back. Not this cold hearted creature. Adrian wanted the girl with endearing naiveté to jump up and hug him for finding her good luck charm. Urgently, he thrust the hated trinket closer to her.

"Tana," he demanded harshly, inside unsure if that was the appropriate name, "take the damn doll. It's yours, it always has been. Just take it." It was of staggering importance that she received it. He did not understand why it was, but the rapid pace of his heart confirmed. Take it, he silently begged. For god's sake, accept it.

She leaned forward to study the rag doll, and then slowly raised her head to look up at him. "But it has no eyes," she pointed out with acidic clarity. Her eyes were wide with false surprise, as if she enjoyed making a fool of him.

Adrian looked down, irritated. Of course it had no eyes. Little Tana always referred to it as the good luck faceless doll; ergo, it had to be faceless.

But it wasn't. There was a thin scrap of red yarn, curving to form a blank smile. But no eyes. Just a stupid grin for something that never really worked.

Abruptly, she snatched it from his hand, scratching his palm as she did so. Hatred, pure hatred, raged in her jade eyes. Yet when she spoke, it was with devastating calmness.

"Look how she smiles. No reason at all." 

It wasn't Tana. Nothing of his wife lived in the woman before him. Tana was gone. Adrian took a step back; as if hearing it, the stranger's head snapped up, arresting him with one look. She continued to observe, painfully distinct.

"No eyes, Adrian. She sees nothing, but she smiles. If she could only _see_—there's nothing to smile about. There never has been."

He wanted to see little, smiling Tana so much it hurt.

"Smiling, just because somebody fixed it that way. Because no one wants to see a miserable doll. No one wants to see a trinket without its shine."

Her eyes used to shine with such warmth…

"But dolls with no eyes don't last. People kill them. The ones that do smile all the time, and live…are rare. Nobody stays good forever."

Tana could have. She used to smile with such promise…

"Don't frown. Adrian, you wanted it this way, didn't you?" The singsong voice was insistent, so reasonable. Adrian nodded, though completely baffled. Those words had hair raising familiarity. Somebody, who, despite his damn irritation and minuscule significance, made perfect sense. If only he could just figure out who said it.

Even as she rose from the table, his wife who was not his wife was fading. Unseen winds taking bits and pieces of her as she swayed to him. By the time her cold hand touched his cheek, there was nothing but a ghost left.

"Please don't be disappointed," it begged, losing strength and malevolent tones. "It's how you wanted it."  


~*~*~*~

The search on the first floor of the dungeon was fruitless. Nervous, although not daring to let each other see, they agreed to explore the level below them.

"Whoa," Kyros breathed after he looked into a few cells.

"What is it?" Winnie asked worriedly, following closely behind.

"Nothing…just a lotta creepy crap down here."

"Listen, I don't want to hear about your package—"

"No," he snapped, "sicko. I meant to the torture stuff. I mean, some I've seen, even endured. But others…" He paused to peer into another cell. "I didn't even know was physically possible. Hey, look at that! Makes you think 'ass hats' aren't completely unrealistic."

"Hold on." Kyros obeyed and stopped walking, mostly because the witch's nails were digging into his shoulder. "Are you saying these rooms are full of nasty nasties?"

"My eyes tell me they're not nice nasties. Ow! Cut those, will you?" He had been referring to her nails. 

"But if they're full of Inquisition relics, then there's no room for Rita, right?"  


"Not unless she's in one of them…oh crap. We gotta go back and check all those Iron Maidens."

Winnie stumbled when her guide turned back, and ran smack into her. "Try to warn somebody before you try to give them a concussion, will you?" But Kyros wasn't paying attention. He grabbed Winnie's hand and dragged her down the start of the hall.

~*~*~*~

He hadn't spoken since he returned. Verity barely received a "hello" before he climbed up back to their escape. She tried to start pleasant conversations, but each was ended by his terse words. Obviously, the nap she recommended hadn't helped as much as she thought it would. He even evaded the game.

"Adrian. Do you still have that book in your pocket? The one that you always had in Anomina?" Rita knew the answer. She had felt it when he had snatched her up as she sobbed.

"Hmm." It wasn't exactly satisfactory.

Frowning, she pursued the discouraging conversation. "Well, what's in it? What could possible be so important that you carry it around all the time?"

The sounds of labour did not stop; on the contrary, it sped up in agitation. "I don't want to tell you." It wasn't a lie, at least. But it still pained her.

"What's the matter with you?" she demanded.

"What about you?" he returned sensibly. "We both want to get out of here, so just let me work."

"But…you're acting all mean."  


"Happens from time to time," he shrugged off. "Maybe once we get out of this hell hole, I'll be happier."

"Watch your language," she huffed and sulked on the bed. Verity felt peculiarly dizzy, and had wanted to ask Adrian why. But her soul mate's grouchiness had prevented it. She had had the spell of imbalance a night before, but couldn't put her finger on any particular reason. Maybe the excitement of escaping.

"Didn't bother you before."  


Rita couldn't find anything clever to say, so she crossed her arms and hugged her knees. She had never known boys to be so moody. Adrian obviously, and sometimes Bryan. Even Jared, god bless his soul, has his strange episodes. The only benefit of her soul mate's sudden taciturn state was the fact that it made him more industrious. Verity estimated the mound of debris had doubled after only an hour's work.

In their conditions, she couldn't very well study him. But, every so often, she felt the unshakable feeling of him watching her. The scratching sounds would slow down, as if he were distracted. Rita didn't look up, because that would have been futile, but retreated even farther down the opposite end of the cot and drew the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Couldn't very well have him seeing down her shirt.

She waited, hours on end, and racked her brains for something to do. Rita had come to depend on conversation so much she didn't know what to do. Then she smiled brightly, and remembered her glasses. 

Adrian paused, amused to see his soul mate crawling on all fours through the straw. But he couldn't indulge on it. If they were regular blocks, he would have dragged her out in a few minutes. But, being what they were, work was perpetually necessary if he meant to fulfill her wish of leaving as soon as possible. 

Something smooth, hard, and cool…ew, no, that felt like a skull. She left the corner where the door met it and headed to her left. And heard a sharp crack under her knee.

"What was that?" Amaro wondered.

"Um…my glasses," she answered sheepishly, and felt her way back to the cot. Adrian chuckled.

"If you wanted to find them, you could have just asked me."

"No, it's all right. Bad sight is hardly important if you're stuck in everlasting darkness."

She heard him scoff. "A tad dramatic aren't we?"

"I've been here longer than you have," she stated stubbornly. "I get dramatic rights."

"Well," he sighed tiredly. "Come here and it won't be so bad."  


"This isn't a come on, is it?" she asked suspiciously, but crept closer to him any way. Adrian tugged her sleeve to draw her to the corner, where he stood. Without warning, Verity was hoisted up and against the wall. She scrambled to keep her feet on the foot hold; Adrian balanced just fine with only one foot keeping him up. Rita had an intuitive feeling he was smiling at her trouble of being six feet off the ground. _Dragons_, she thought with mild disgust.

Before she could scold him, Adrian gestured in front of him.

A hole. Nothing extraordinary, not especially large or nicely shaped…but still. Absurdly excited, Rita leaned forward and inhaled deeply. Fresh air. Cold, fresh, light filled air.

It was wonderful. Nothing short of wonderful.

"Get down now," he ordered, arrogance wrapped around the words. "I'll finish while you sleep." Rita fell clumsily, but managed to avoid any broken or sprained limbs. 

"Can you tell what time of day it is?" she asked, still giddy, as she all but skipped to bed. "With your dragon eyes, and everything."

"Mmm…it is a very small hole…but I guess maybe four or five. A bit early for sleeping, but you seem overexcited any way."

"Oh shut up. I've been here longer and I get overexcited rights."

~*~*~*~

It appeared to be an enormous storage room for torture devices. None of which trapped or chained down Verity Catalina Glisscielle.

"I wish we had a blue print of the place. Daybreakers always have a blue print before a rescue."

"Shut up, you're starting to sound like Quinn," Kyros complained. They had lost the habit of whispering because, by all appearances, the place was abandoned. "It's a shame Amaro let all this stuff go to waste." Winnie glanced at him sharply. "Not that I'd use it or anybody or anything."

"If he is here, he's probably in one of the nicer rooms on the main floor. And Rita's…"

"Somewhere below us," he finished. Winnie continued to explore, carrying a confused expression for how, exactly could this or that work. _Blondes_, he thought to himself with a grin. They had explored two floors before she remembered she could carry a ball of fire for light. "Hey, listen, if we find—"

"When," she corrected. The girl's life had been hell. Winnie figured the least they could do was bail her out considering how much Circle Daybreak hadn't helped. 

"Fine, when we find Verity…could I um, come back?"

"You're going to steal from the dragon? Are you crazy?"

"Right, like we have enough room for this stuff on the plane. No…I just figured I oughta come back and give the guy a talkin' to."

Winnie marched up her partner and tip toed to study his face. Completely serious. Then she gave a hard flick to his Adam's apple.

"Holy…stuff, that hurt!" he moaned, rubbing his neck.

"You want to come back and jeopardize our safety just so you could have the satisfaction of a school yard fight! Kyros, he's a dragon!"

"Yeah, I thought we learned that in Anomina…"

"No, Kyros, absolutely not," she stated firmly. She whirled away, her blonde curls slapping him in the eyes. Kyros noted it was a nasty habit reserved only for him. Still pleading, he followed her down the narrow stair well.

He bumped into her, and dropped a few expletives when he saw why she stopped. A foot away from Winnie, at the bottom of the stair well, stood an Asian vampire. Standing perfectly still. Not even breathing, which came to all vampires by instinct.

"Think it's a wax figure?" he whispered to her anxiously.

The vampire swiftly raised two cross bows, one for Winnie's heart, and the other at Kyros' most valuable and vulnerable area: his crotch. It was definitely not a wax figure. 

"All right, I give up," he immediately informed him, hands shooting above his head. "For god's sake, Winnie, surrender too. Before my chances of fatherhood are severely shortened."

"That might not be a bad thing," Winnie dead panned, but raised her hands any way. _And we brought so many weapons_, she lamented privately as the henchman hustled them out of the room.

~*~*~*~

Thierry watched with a shake of his head as the two entered his view. At first, he didn't understand why their arms were held up until the vampire behind them stepped the room. If they all survived, and after their indefinite suspension, Thierry made a mental note that the pair had to enter training again.

Safely hidden from their view, Thierry crouched on the decorative ledge. Thank Goddess for indoor pillars and the owner's penchant for gargoyles. The shadows cloaked him nicely as he studied and memorized which room they had entered. Then he waited for the guard to leave.

But he didn't. Not until after a long time.

~*~*~*~

"Rita."

She turned away, sleepily swatting at the annoying speaker. Her hand missed.

"Verity, wake up."

Rita pulled the blanket up so that it covered her ears. The material was peeled back, and that irritating, multi-accented voice was very near. She flinched when air tickled her cheek.

"Verity Catalina Glisscielle, wake up before I kiss you."

Rita shot up, nearly colliding her head with Adrian's. "That's a nasty threat," she grumbled as she was physically pulled away from slumber. The girl suspected it was another exciting update on the escape's progress, and was almost prepared when she was once again jerked into the air. After a few seconds of obtaining a satisfactory grip on the blocks, Adrian's shoulder, and the foot hold, Verity looked up.

Three blocks. Gone. Just…not there. In their place, fresh air, and a diagonal brief tunnel that let in sun light.

"Good lord," she uttered, her mind blank of any other phrase. "It's light." Faint, white, but there. The weak rays failed to enter her cell, but at least she could see some color. The soil, Adrian's clothes…well, Adrian's clothes were black, but the soil was a nice, rich brown. Verity sighed contentedly.

"All right, enough euphoria," Adrian ordered briskly, secretly pleased. It was nice to see sensible Verity with almost jump, had their positions permitted, with childish happiness. "Crawl through."

Verity turned to him, eyes round. "You want me to leave? Now?"

"I'll come out right after," he assured her. She shook her head.

"No. Only three blocks are gone, Adrian. I can't possibly fit."

"Of course you can. Weeks of nothing but bread and water; you've probably lost some weight." Rita stared at him, jaw dropped. She guessed he didn't understand the rules of a stubborn, unconditionally generous Spanish rear. It was in her genes, for goodness' sake. Mother had spoken of it often enough. But, as she didn't want to point out her violin shape, she nodded reluctantly and allowed him to help her through the narrow opening. 

The first thought that hit her was:

"Adrian, it's cold." Which was an understatement. She never imagined that cold could burn like this. 

"Of course it is. Just keep on moving forward." Rita grimaced and pulled herself forward, hands digging into the hard, rocky ground. As she expected, Verity emerged smoothly. Head, neck, shoulders, torso…

"Oh damn," she heard him mutter. "You don't fit."

Most girls envied that bottom curve that a majority of Spanish and Latina girls possessed; and the girls who did have them, flaunted it. Verity wasn't one of them. She gritted her teeth and cursed her heritage. Melissa never had this waist problem.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Adrian demanded, alarmed.

"Coming back in, of course. I don't fit."

"I know that, but just—I don't know, squeeze through."

"These are my hips, Adrian, not play dough."

"Are you going to at least try, or do I have to push?"

It was amazing how fast one could scramble under a threat. Rita would have endured a broken pelvis just to "squeeze through." Later, she couldn't remember how long it took, but she managed. With grunts, complaints, threats, more complaints and more threats, Verity finally pulled her feet through and began wriggling through the tunnel. Gasping and sweating, she dragged herself out of the hole and onto the burning snow.

Adrian climbed out a few minutes later. Both laid tired on the ground, sprawled out as if to make snow angels.

She had never felt such exhaustion in her entire life, or her other lives for that matter. Her chest heaved as she tried to make sense of the sky. Funny how she remembered it to be blue, not white. Maybe confinement had manipulated her memory…no wait, that was an overcast. Good. Memory of nature's colors, still intact. But it was all so irritatingly bright. 

"Damn me," she heard Adrian gasp in wonder. She frowned and turned to him. And he had an admirable profile. 

But Adrian didn't face her. His blue eyes—she missed seeing that deep a blue—remained fastened on their prison. It was very nice castle, Rita admitted to herself, but now was not the time to house shop. 

"That's my castle," he said, still frozen in shock. Verity frowned and looked from him and the castle. Must have been his imagination. She couldn't imagine her own soul mate to be stupid enough to spend weeks in a dungeon of his own making. He muttered, "Somebody's broken into _my_ castle, and made dungeon additions to _my_ castle, and probably rearranged _my_ furniture in _my_ castle…"

Rita turned away and squinted far into the still whiteness. She felt as if she just stepped onto a blank canvas. On one of the icy dunes, has the most peculiar bump…almost like a pimple…

"Adrian!" she murmured through chattering teeth. "Adrian, look!" Rita clapped her hands, adrenaline possessing her. She jumped like a child who broke into a candy store. "Adrian, it's a tent!" She wasn't sure if it was a tent, but that sounded less silly than saying "Look, it's an igloo!"

But Adrian never even looked towards her. Although he picked himself and stood, unsteadily, on his own two feet, his gaze remained the same. On the pile of enchanted bricks. Then again, it was probably better that way, for Rita was sure she wasn't much to look at. 

Impatient, she clutched a handful of his sleeve and pulled him away. It was harder than she expected, because the ground was slippery and Adrian had his fair share of muscles. Still fatigued by their escape, Rita paused, panting.

"For goodness' sake, Adrian, come on!" She emphasized by childishly stamping her foot.

Finally, Adrian turned to her, eyes urgent. "Don't do that. I just remembered something about my castle."

Rita stamped her foot again, because it had caught his attention before. "Adrian, it's not your castle!"

"Yes it is. And I placed hidden lakes around the peri—"

A sharp crack interrupted him. Horrified into silence, they slowly looked below their feet.

Rita shrieked as the solid ground shattered and black water engulfed her. Adrian hurriedly pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes before he dived in after her.

The cold was biting, mercilessly tearing all feeling from her body. She tried to swim, but her arms refused to obey. Invisible icy tendrils penetrated her skin, drilling painfully in her mind. Feebly, she knew it wouldn't be too long before she passed out or died. Her lips quirked up.

Dying…just because she stomped her foot. Had there been any color in her face, she would have blushed at her stupidity.

~*~*~*~

****

ass is a step forward." 

Unknown

All I can ask is how do you feel about this one? Did I sound like a therapist just then? Ick, how stinky. No offense to therapists out there. Maybe I need one…any who review! Please? Again, sorry for ranting.


	18. Just read the damn chapter

****

World weary traveler: yes, politics suck. Now that that's been established, I won't make any promises about killing, really people. I'M not killing people. The characters are killing people. The characters' conditions are killing people. Please don't picture a sadistic little author going around and killing people. Any who, sorry about the length, but hopefully the content makes up for it.

More than u know: It's fun making people go "Yay!" Any who, thanks for understanding. I hate it when I'm doing my well-deserved moping and my mom tells me to think of what else is going on in the world and blah, blah, blah… But, any who, I'm better now and you have nothing to worry about. I'm not going to kill Kyros. I'm pretty sure the guy's non-killable. 

Martha: Thanks for the thanks…I honestly didn't even feel like posting anything for a while, but now I'm glad I did. I hope this chapter lives up to the last one.

Aife Bisclaveret: It was weird, just before I posted the last chapter I was wondering about you and your story. What a coink-e-dink, huh? Any who, I understood the sentence. Aw, sorry about her…but I'm glad you're recovering. And I'm glad to hear she wasn't too Mary-suish. I liked her too (duh). And, I guess all their accidental chemistry is my fault. I mean, they like each other and all (of course, they're both gorgeous) but I honestly have no intention of making anything happen between them. Plus, Winnie does need a boyfriend, not some guy who needs reforming.

Ugh, it seems that everyone and their grandma (Er, I believe that's a common saying, at least around here, but if it's not, my bad) has been to Paris! As always, I'm jealous. I'm thinking about running away to Paris, but I made the vital mistake of telling my mom. And, apparently, there's a rule about young girls traveling alone and what not. And any review makes up for your laziness, I'm just glad to learn you haven't fallen off the face of the earth or anything like that. 

Alocin: Well, I loved your review about loving it, so that about evens it out. Sorry for the wait!

Neona-deniker: I know, it's awful lengthy, ain't it? It's over twice as long…it wasn't supposed to be, but I guess it's all right. I don't know how long it'll be, but I can absolutely guarantee it will NOT reach the triple digits. If it did, that would be sad. And I do have an idea for another fic, but it's so hard to get started. I mean, look at this fic, it's so hard to get done. I've never fallen through a frozen lake before, so I hope the description is realistic. As I wrote, I'm terribly jealous of you're having gone before, but thanks for the condolences! 

Oli: All right, possible "mishiness" b/w Adrian and Rita in this chapter. Or I could be lying. You'll just have to continue reading to find out. Insert evil laugh Any who, I WISH my name was Adelaide. It's so pretty, much prettier than my real name. (Security reasons prevent me from releasing it, but it's one of those that can be turned into a boy's name. So yeah, all through school, just to annoy me, they'd call me the boy version for fun. Bastards) But it's cool that you live there! Hey, I know Winnie's pretty capable, but we must remember that Kyros is a grown man and sometimes he can save himself…this just isn't one of those times. But hey, somebody had to defend him. Naw, you're not an idiot; if I didn't know it led to nothing I would have clicked on it too out of curiosity. Goodness, math AND physics? I wouldn't have had the brain power to even get online after that. Anyways, hope you enjoy.

Soraira: What? I thought "boink" was an everyday, common word…well, maybe it isn't. Maybe that's why people have funny reactions when I use that word so freely. Oh well. Hey, Tala and Monroe were great fighting or not. Verity and Adrian aren't that great, fighting or…fighting. They don't seem to do much else, do they? Well, whether they get along or not, I'm glad you enjoyed it. But I'm pretty sure that kicking their asses is against company policy. Besides, Kyros is not above suing. And you can try to kick me but, I warn you, I run pretty fast…plus I'm a pro at fake crying. People would point at you and say, "Look, that's the one who made that little girl cry." And we don't want that, do we?

Vague Verity

Chapter 18

****

"Sweet is love when all is sane  
Sweet is death to rid the pain

~*~*~*~

Her eyes, frozen jungles, stared at the unfathomable darkness as she sunk deeper and deeper. Rita couldn't think coherent thoughts any more, just emotion. And she was terribly depressed.

Then she jerked, back and up. Confusion slowly peppered her features. Spasms weren't a normal way to drown. Before she could realize what exactly these upward movements meant, the freezing blackness suddenly lost hold of her. It was just as cold, but it better. Her numb mind registered that much. Even though the hard thing she was lying on was so cold it burned, it was better than what she sank in.

But that boy yelling above her wasn't helping.

Adrian, frantic, rushed to the tent she pointed out a few seconds earlier. It was half buried in snow, but at least it gave protection from the wind. He laid her stiff body on a sleeping bag, and rubbed her arms in desperation.

"Verity! Verity! Rita, say something!" He would have settled for a blink. The worried dragon racked his brains for certain procedures but came up with nothing. Reviving humans hadn't been something he aimed to learn. Frantic, he grabbed his soul mate and flipped her on her stomach, and then administered two thumps on her back. 

Rita winced.

Causing pain wasn't what he hoped for, but at least it drew a reaction. He continued, despite the pain it caused both of them, until Rita coughed. Verity took a deep breath and coughed violently again. Her whole body shuddered and, after a few more erratic thumps, began coughing up water.

Relieved to see her breathing, Amaro quickly surveyed their shelter and grabbed the other sleeping bag. Despite her twitching movements, he managed to wrap the thick blanket around her as she continued to dispel the water from her lungs. Rita let out some unintelligible sounds, but Amaro was too preoccupied with keeping her warm. Her breathing was steady now, and she laid still as he helped her flip onto her back.

He had no idea the tent would hold the necessities, hence his reason for taking off his shirt, in the case where she needed dry clothing. Yet that was little help considering he had forgotten it near the fatal hole. A fire would help her, but there was nothing to burn.

"What is it, that humans do, to keep from dying from the cold?" he asked her as he rubbed her shoulders. Rita's eyebrows furrowed, either searching for the answer or trying to understand what he was saying. The only sign of their accident was the chattering teeth and her wet, dark hair. He saw a motion picture once, about something about hypothermia and body warmth…

The idea hit both of them simultaneously. Rita was the first to speak.

"Take one stitch off of me…and you'll be a one horned dragon."

Adrian initially ignored the threat. "You can't just lie there in the wet clothes," he reasoned, searching through one of the suit cases. He grabbed two large shirts and sweat pants, then crawled back to her. "Losing two horns isn't too bad."

He could have sworn she was on the brink of death a minute ago. Her hand shot up, keeping him at bay. "How about losing one testicle?" she asked menacingly and grabbed the clothing from his hand. Adrian gulped—though he seriously didn't believe the threat, just indulging her, that's all—and obediently turned away when she ordered. 

"All right," she said, thankfully calmer, "you can turn around now." Adrian hastily faced her and helped her turn over the sleeping bags so that she could lay on the dry sides. 

They were both kneeling, and she couldn't help but notice the rectangular outline in his black pants. "That book is probably soaked in your pocket," she pointed out hopefully. He only grinned and guessed what she was trying to do.

"Then I'll just let it dry there," he answered and grinned wider when he saw her frown in disappointment.

Color was slowly seeping into her face, despite the fact the temperatures remained low. Apparently, Verity was more resilient than he originally believed.

Until she swayed briefly and her eyes fluttered shut. Naturally alarmed, Adrian assisted the half conscious human back between the sheets. Seeing there was nothing else for warmth, he settled for tightly tucking the unzipped sleeping bag around her languid body. He hadn't noticed their nearness until Rita opened her eyes.

__

Oh…god, she thought panicked. Normally, she wouldn't take his name in vain, but this was a very scary moment. Their eyes, their foreheads, and most importantly, their lips were a few centimeters apart. And it didn't help that he lowered his head so that all it took was sudden movement on her part to initiate a kiss.

__

God, god, god, god, god, god… If she spoke, commanding him to back away, that would have made their lips brush against each other. A kiss. If she turned to the left, her mouth would have slanted over his. A kiss. If she turned to the right, same dire result. A kiss. If she shifted, no matter how little, her head would have risen far enough to meet him…a _kiss_! _Oh…_Verity squeaked in her mind, at the utmost pinnacle of panic…_god, what do I do? God, god, god, god…_

Adrian removed her dilemma as to what to do. With a small smile, he leaned down and lightly pressed his lips against hers. And stayed there. A kiss.

A few seconds of a familiarly strange place. The time span of a quick thought—enough to let her see something not his, and not hers. Theirs. It was blinding, commanding, and beautiful.

Rita automatically stilled, not even daring to breathe. She thought the dungeon was petrifying, but being kissed by a virtual stranger, albeit her soul mate, who lacked all functioning emotions of a normal human being, plus his _shirt_, brought on a whole new level of terror.

He pulled away slightly, and she thought the sweet torture was done. His eyes were churning, just as confused as she was; but he obviously found oceans of comfort in their position. He bent down again…

"No," she protested weakly, and the word allowed her lips to brush against his.

"Why?" Adrian asked, not moving away, yet not coming closer either.

It was indescribably difficult to explain why with her soul mate hovering so closely; Rita could barely breathe, let alone formulate a solid argument. She managed however, by saying what she felt, not what logic could offer.

"Because kisses can't fix us."

This time Adrian stilled, eyes wide with realization and…something like hurt. It was true, he knew that. But that didn't mean he liked the sound of it.

"That's a good reason," he murmured softly, gingerly meeting her lips again. Adrian felt her tense once more, and was not remorseful for it. She hadn't expected him to continue. "But we better make sure, just in case."

A few words, utterly corny in a different context, presently left Rita too terrified to protest. The pressure was stronger this time, his mouth a bit more demanding.

__

Close your eyes, she heard—or felt—him gently urge. The thought reached her, slipping between the bright waves of warmth.

Why?

__

Because then your eyes won't get frozen cross eyed, staring at my nose.

Which, in Rita's now shattered and boggled mind, made perfect sense. She closed her eyes and, against her will, enjoyed the sensations of his touch. She wanted desperately to not feel anything from Adrian Amaro; not his thoughts, not _anything_. But it was hard to ignore those lips, and the weight of his body on her own. God it was a good kiss. Not just his lips—she never knew a dragon could have such soft lips—but his hands. Resting, then gripping her sides…slowly sliding upwards…running through her slick hair…cupping her head…

Then came the most pleasant surprise. In between the feverish caresses and seductive nibbles, he pulled away and did not return to her mouth. Instead, Adrian, whose eyes had now glazed over, turned his attention to the corner of her lips, and then ran kisses along her jaw. Rita was shocked, though not disgusted, when she felt him softly nuzzle her neck.

She had always hated seeing couples slobber over each other, devouring at each other's necks like crazed cannibals. But the nibbles slightly teasing her skin only evoked one emotion, and it was not disgust.

Verity was comfortable. For the first time in too many years. Idly, she thought it strange that she had never been at peace, even in sleep for ages. Yet the man who she believed deserved the most hatred made her forget her worries. This was bliss, this kiss was heaven—and it felt as if there was no need to question it. 

As she sunk deeper into the ecstasy, Verity let the idle thoughts slip into oblivion. Giving him better access, she craned her neck to the left.

And instantly pushed him off.

"Oh my goodness," she exclaimed, scrambling away from him. "That's Kyros' stuff!"  


Adrian sat back, more than perplexed. "What is?" he asked after recovering from their sudden separation. Rita crawled to the open suit case, from where Adrian had grabbed the shirts and sweats pants. She held up a pair of red polka dotted boxers. 

"These," she said triumphantly. Adrian raised an eyebrow, indigo eyes brightening with disbelief and jealousy.

"Are you _that_ familiar with the shifter?" Rita laughed and came closer, though not too close. Shirtless, soaked, and out of breath, yet Adrian Amaro still managed to exude an intimidating aura.

"No, look at the band." She folded it so that he could see. "Mrs. Snow always stitched everybody's name on their underwear. Look—Kyros Snow." True to her word, Adrian did spy the letters sewed on the garter. Even had little hearts before and after the name.  


"So?" Adrian appeared disgruntled; after all, his impromptu cuddling session with his soul mate was interrupted by another man's underwear. Rita, now terribly excited, moved to the other suit case and recognized Winnie's glittery, chic sweaters.

"So, Adrian, it means they're here! Well, not here, exactly, but—" Her shoulders slumped as it dawned on her. "Oh, no…Adrian, they're in your castle. They're trying to rescue me!"

"Don't flatter yourself." He stretched uncomfortably. "Maybe…they're just exploring?"

Rita gave him a look. "Even if they are 'just exploring' whoever trapped us might catch them. Adrian, we have to go back."

Now it was his turn to give her a look. "We just spent days trying to get out. We are not going back."

Rita grabbed another of Kyros' shirts and began drying her hair. "But then they'll spend a long time looking for somebody who isn't there!" she protested.

"They'll wise up after a few days," he replied uneasily. "Come back here before you freeze…again."

"Oh, but Adrian!," she pleaded, settling back on the sleeping bag, "They're probably caught. I mean, if a dragon can get caught by the people in there, what chances does a witch and a fox have?"

"Good point," he conceded. "But, in the highly unlikely chance a rescue is necessary…you're not coming with me."

"_What_?"

"I said, you're not—"

"I heard what you said," she snapped, eyes blazing. "Why can't I help you?'

"_How_ can you help me? There are vampires and…other sort of things in there. A human girl can't do much."

"Yes I can."

"No, you can't."

"I've borne being linked to you, haven't I?"

"Yes, but you can't kiss the guards to death."

"That was a cheap shot. You practically seduced me." He was worse than Kyros, she realized, because where Kyros was a few years older than her, Adrian was centuries. "Cradle robber."

"With one kiss!"  


The arm that she had propped herself on wobbled. Rita stared at it, and suddenly there were two arms. That didn't make sense…oh. Her vision doubled. That made more sense than the theory of growing another limb.

"Rita?"

She snapped up to look at him. The dizziness vanished. She only had two arms, not three. All was right with the world.

Adrian crept closer, eyes narrowed. It looked as though he had a sneaking suspicion in mind. His feather light touch tilted her chin up, so that he could study her neck.

"Verity, has any of the guards visited you lately?"  


The urgency in his voice told her now was not the time to start bickering. Scratching her head, she recalled the past week. "Um…no. I don't think so."

"It all seems a bit fuzzy, right?" Rita nodded in confirmation.

"I mean, day in and day out of darkness…it all just sort of blurs together." Adrian gently grabbed her hand, bringing her closer to him.

"Rita…what I'm about to do—you're not going to like it, but it's necessary." He brought her index finger to her lips, and for one girlish moment, Rita thought he was going to kiss it. Until she felt a sharp nip at the end of it.

"Ouch!" Her hand darted out and slapped him. "You just don't walk around, biting your soul mate's fingers!"

"Rita, pay attention!" he scolded as he rubbed his cheek. "Didn't you notice how fast you slapped me? I couldn't block it."

"Bravo to me then," she mumbled, nursing her offended finger. Adrian, with his unbreakable grip, clasped her hand and held it between them. Both watched silently as blooded beaded out, and then the tiny cut seamed together. As if by magic. "Um…you don't think the bread they gave me was specially fortified with healing vitamins, do you?"

Adrian shook his head, and Rita smiled to see an angry, red mark on his cheek. "Guess you don't understand. You recovered amazingly well from the fall into the arctic water, and you heal automatically." She stared at him blankly, waiting. "Rita! They've been turning you into a vampire."

Rita leaned back, eyebrows furrowed. "But, I don't remember being turned into a vampire—"

"Course not. They've probably blocked your memory of it, and it usually takes two or three exchanges." Rita glanced at him skeptically. "Don't give me that look. I tasted it in your blood—you're different now." Adrian rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation when she continued to take it with a grain of salt. He practically stomped over to the case that held the nice, pretty sweaters and pulled something shiny out. "Here." A mirror was tossed into her lap. "Look for yourself."

Still cynical, Verity picked up the ivory handle and gave a cursory gaze at her reflection. She was ready to toss it back to him when something caught her eye. Rita held it closer to her face.

"Goodness gracious, Adrian. I'm pretty!" It wasn't exclaimed with glee, nor with excitement. Just plain, modest shock.

"I know. But, since the exchanges, they're making you prettier. One of the perks of being a leech."  


Her green eyes held tiny shards of green, each a different shade. Her lips fuller, redder. Her cheek bones, which she once thought were nonexistent, were now more pronounced. Even her eyelashes were thicker, so much so she wondered how she kept her eyes open. She sighed. Her hair was the same: dirt brown. It was nice to be pretty…Verity wrinkled her nose. "But I can't be a vampire, Adrian. I can't stand the thought of drinking blood."  


Adrian, who had been watching her expectantly, sighed tiredly. "I should have seen that one coming." Verity pushed the mirror towards him, irritated.

"You make me sound abnormal. Humans generally don't digest blood, you know."

"Actually, I've been to some parts of Asia where they—"

"Adrian!" Rita cried out excitedly, and pulled one of Winnie's sweaters over her head. "Do you know what this means?"

"You haven't traveled enough?" She unzipped the tent flaps and peered cautiously around them. 

"No, don't be silly. This means I'm not just a regular human girl. I can go with you and save Winnie and Kyros. Come on, no time to lose. We still have to get your shirt." Before Adrian could object, his soul mate skipped out of the tent, faintly bidding him to follow. Presumably, she would return to the hole where he had rescued her. 

~*~*~*~

Kyros had to hand it to her. The witch would complain endlessly about the weather, his driving, the width of her hips, and everything else. But here, hanging by their wrists, Winnie hadn't uttered one syllable about the pain. Admirable girl.

Evil incarnate vampire had left them hours before. Kyros absorbed their surroundings, searching desperately for a way out. It wasn't the sort of room one would find shackles in. Or the other, various torture instruments resting on a tray on the mahogany table.

"I've seen this sort of room before," Winnie remarked. "You know, that movie about the last czar of Russia? Sorta like that. I wonder if they have Faberge eggs around here." Again, Kyros lauded the girl. He could hear the pain in her tones, but the witch refused to acknowledge it.

"Kinda too much gold crap for me," Kyros replied. It was true. The accents, the curtain sashes…even some of the Victorian furniture appeared to be gilded. To emphasize the dazzling color, the cloths were blood red.

"I don't think so. Amaro has good taste, for a dragon."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Kyros looked to the ground, which was six feet below them, and admired the Persian rug. He swung his body weight so that he could catch a glimpse of his partner before swinging to face the front again.

"Nothing. You just normally don't see a dragon with such refined tastes. More of a barbaric type, you know."

"Hey! Those are my ancestors you're knockin'! My great-great-great-great-great…you get the picture—grand parents probably had great tastes."

"I didn't mean your ancestors," she snapped, annoyed. "I just meant dragons in general."

"You can't say things like that unless you've met every single dragon out there and studied all of their living rooms—"

"Oh, shove it, Kyros. I've tolerated all your comments about witches."

"What comments?"

"About how we do nothing, how we're the weakest, blah, blah, blah… Aradia thinks the one responsible for the Anomina fiasco is a witch, you know."

"Well, that's a witch for you. Can't stand it when a dragon out does her." Their conversation was cut short with a polite slam of the door. The enormous, French windows bathed the newcomer in cold, white light. 

Their captor wasn't Adrian Amaro, as they expected, but a female. Tall, even taller than Kyros. Hour glass shaped, and her middle was thinner than Winnie's. Blonde, but not Winnie's beautiful strawberry blonde. Platinum, blinding blonde tresses fell from the woman's head to her knees. Kyros noticed with disdain how pale she was; not like Winnie here, who was healthily tawny. That dark blue dress only emphasized the veins, which were clearly visible under the white skin. And she had a tiny, secretive smile on her pink lips. Her wide, blue eyes danced with laughter. 

"Oh crap," he heard Winnie mutter. "We're going to be tortured by Barbie."

"I knew the Matel Toy company had something against Daybreakers," Kyros agreed. The stranger's visage became angered, and not gracefully angered. Now just plain ugly. Amazing how bad manners affected one's beauty.

With short, furious steps, the woman marched towards them, hands fisted at her sides. "One should not be so snide with the woman who holds your lives in her hands."

"Great," Winnie sighed. "Not just any Barbie. British Barbie who slips into third person."

"Do you think she stands on her tip toes?" Kyros was surprised, and a little amused, when the woman slid his shoe off and then threw it at his head. "Ouch…good aim, but for god's sake woman! A shoe?" The witch beside him cleared her throat. Kyros shut up. It wouldn't be too pleasant if he pointed out the tray of, as Winnie called them, "nasty nasties."

"The only reason you two are alive is information—" she began menacingly. Kyros let out a bark of laughter. The blondes turned to him questioningly. He shrugged, as well as one could shrug when chained to a wall.

"I thought the reason we're both alive is we're not dead yet." Off went the other shoe, and again at his forehead. Winnie stared daggers at the girl who caused her friend a rather ugly bruise. Kyros, unaffected, continued with, "As a gentleman, I think it's right to point at that, with you standing at my feet like that… I could totally see down your dress."

"Kyros," Winnie growled. "Stop thinking like a male for two seconds."

At the sound of the suggestion, the woman swayed to the mahogany table. She stared ponderously at the choice of devices. "Hmm…we could always remove his—"

"It's 'we' now, is it? Schizophrenic? Which crazy bitch am I talking to now?" Kyros kept his tone light, but was sweating profusely. _Please oh please_, he inwardly begged, _don't take anything…_

The girl approached him again, this time with a devious smile playing on her lips. She held something wickedly sharp and shiny. Kyros clenched his eyes, and turned away as the pasty hand rose.

Evil incarnate vampire swiftly burst through the door. Not even noting the prisoner's presence, he marched to the woman and whispered something of extreme importance. The woman cursed, loud and outraged. Her weapon fell to the marble floor with a resounding clang. Kyros sighed in relief. 

"I don't remember my Barbies ever saying something like that," Kyros said as they both stalked out of the room. Winnie twisted her head to gaze at him, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, Andrea's Barbies. Andrea's."

"Right," she agreed, unconvinced. 

~*~*~*~

Thierry had begun to lose feelings in his legs. It wasn't wise to stay crouched for hours on end. Then, at last, the witch and the vampire rushed out of the room, both muttering profanity in their own respective languages. Still wary of other guards, he silently leapt from his pillar to the next, which was still occupied by a contemplating gargoyle. He teetered for a few seconds before balancing on the granite back.

He continued hopping until he was directly above their door. Keeping his legs crooked on a decorative ledge, he slowly lowered himself until he hung upside down. No sound of enemies; just the pair bickering. If not for the fact that they had gotten themselves into the situation, Thierry might have summoned some pity for them. 

~*~*~*~

****

Cruel is death when all is well  
Cruel is love when all is hell"

Unknown


	19. The Clean Slate

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Finyda: Hello new reviewer! I don't mean the plot line to get so twisted, but I don't like it when I read fanfics and I could see where it's heading, so I try to shake it up for my readers. Kewl, I love having rabid fans (well, not that "rabid" part especially, but I like having fans, but it's not bad being a rabid fan but…well, any ways) And I guess what would be a normal occurance for most soul mates (what's in a kiss, after all) is tremendously sweet after they've hated each other for so long. Any way, I hope I didn't make you wait too long. Thanks again for the review!

Person with no name: Wow, I haven't had a person with no name for a long time. Congrats on being one of the few. Any way, I guess mush IS weird considering who's sharing it, but I also liked the bit about Ky's boxers. Thank you for the brilliant comment. 

World weary traveler: Yup, this one was much better than the last one. And I think Thierry has the right to be as mean as possible. But as we always know, Thierry's super nice. 

Martha: They are always confused. I get the blankest stares when I try to explain that you can't wear black shoes with a brown belt. And I think this update was medium soonish. Or maybe just average…ish. Thanks for the review.

More than u know: I'm glad I updated too, sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get around to it. and I'm also glad you wanna know what happens next, because if you didn't, that would be sad. So here ya go.

Oli: Hi Oli Girl!! Yeah, I figured that all soul mates need some bit of mushiness, no matter how screwed up the relationship. I think Rita has had enough of jealousy—well, technically it was Gitana, but I feel sorry for the girl. Besides, I'm convinced that Adrian's an utter ass and deserves some jealousy time. And I don't know why you told me that either, but it was interesting. I had no idea Australia was trying to take over the world. Looky I learned something today!

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Random Writer: Yeah well, I just couldn't think of a title. There's nothing else vital after "vital somethingelses." I'm sorry if the updates don't come as much as they should, but I'll try. Thanx!

Alocin: For clarification purposes, she's an almost vampire. But, hey, good enough right? I'm glad I'm making interesting chapters, and not just filler chapters. Thanks for your review!

General note: Just a little warning. I thought this chapter was a bit too short, so there's more talk. 

Vague Verity

Chapter 19

****

"Why was I to see when

~*~*~*~

Kyros searched for a subject, exhausted. With his dangling legs, he had managed to wrap them around a pillar and drag it closer to him. The drapes and accents that hung on it laid broken on the ground. Then, with an even greater, Herculean effort, he pushed it towards Winnie for her to stand on, and ease the ache in her arms. The tricky part was moving it in her direction without it crashing on her. 

And for his gallantry, Winnie rewarded him with a fighting free conversation of any topic he chose. 

"Winnie," he started in a pitifully childish tone. The witch tensed, knowing something fairly irritating would fly out of his mouth.

"What?"

"Do you _lo-ove_ me?" 

"Oh for goddess' sake," she began, exasperated.

"But do you?" he wheedled, barely containing his laughter. It was fun, Kyros learned, flirting like this, a safe distance away from her slapping hands and sharp nails. "Like, more than a friend? Like, you want to tie me in your bed and buy costumes—"

"Kyros, shut the hell up."

"Why? Am I getting you hot and bothered? Are you straining against the chains? Come to think of it, I've always figured you as a dominatrix-y sort of girl—"

"Kyros!"

"Yes or no babe."

"No," she stated firmly. "No, no, and no. _No_."

"I'll take that as a yes," her partner replied cheerfully.

"New topic, Snow, or no talking at all," Arlin ordered.

"Fine," he sighed. "Of all the super heroes, who is most likely to die of an STD?"

The witch rolled her eyes. Of all things to think about… "Batman and Robin."

"Hey, don't you dare start that again. They're not gay, I tell you, they're not!"

"Fine, fine…Flash."

"Why Flash?"

"First of all," Winnie began, internally laughing at her serious tone, "he hits on every girl he meets. And his name is _Flash_, for Goddess' sake. He's either gay or exposes himself."

"Yeah, but he's super fast. So freakin' fast he probably leaves the chick (and just chicks) before all the cooties could get him."

"My Goddess, you're a sensible one," she commented dryly. Kyros beamed happily. "Well, then, Kyros, who's most likely to die?"

"James Bond."

"He's not a super hero!" 

A new voice contradicted her. "He's worked for fifty years and manages to get all the women…I'd call that an inhuman feat." The pair stared, jaws dropped, as the man came closer.

"Winnie," he whispered. "Just me, or does that hallucination look a lot like our boss?"

"Is it possible to hallucinate the same person?" she returned. Neither was sure who would be harsher: the female tormentor, or Thierry. The former hadn't carried such a murderous gaze like the Elder did now.

"How long has it been since we've eaten?" Kyros asked quietly. It had to be a hallucination, because the vampire remained totally silent. Starvation must have done it.

"This morning." All right, so that wasn't it. 

"I don't even know where to begin," Thierry snarled, startling them both. "Assault on fellow Daybreakers at my hangar, larceny, with holding valuable information, a mission without approval…what the _hell_ were you thinking?" Thierry stared at Winnie. The witch bit her lip, and then turned to Kyros. 

Apparently he was the one with all the answers; Kyros tried to live up to the expectation. The Arctic fox looked at them and shrugged. 

"Um…Hakuna Matata?" Kyros was surprised Thierry didn't spontaneously combust. Certainly quaked like a ticking time bomb. 

"_What?_"

"It means no worries—"

Winnie wondered what exactly happened when the men stopped studying each other and looked expectantly to the door. 

"Quick," Kyros whispered. Thierry didn't look at them. "Hey, Hallucination, pay attention!" Now Thierry whirled to him, irked. "You don't have enough time to get both of us out. Go out that other door and look for something to break these chains."

"You want _me_ to hide?" Thierry asked, pride wounded. "I don't need to hide. I've never hidden." 

"Now's not the time to prove who has more testosterone," Winnie interrupted nervously. Now, she heard the foot steps too. "Just go, Thierry, and find something iron. There was a battle ax on the second level of the basement. You'll see runes on the handle. Go get it."

"I can't believe I flew a thousand miles for a funeral and then to be bossed around by my own employees."

"Thierry!" Winnie exclaimed, panicked. She stomped her foot on the pillar. "Just go!"  


~*~*~*~

He had managed to persuade her to slow walk after she retrieved his shirt. In the short time he had known her—or, at least, this version of her—Adrian learned that once Verity made up her mind to do something, she did it with little desire to look back. He had every intent of protecting her, however, vampire or no, once they reached his abode.

"Are you cold?" he asked, for the wind filled silence irked him. She did not turn to him and simply shook her head. Rita looked very much like she did when they first met, in that idiotic school. Her hair tied up in a bun, and what little skin that showed had been scrubbed clean, so that she was cold yet still rosy. A minor quibble took place concerning her wardrobe. Verity, of course, had preferred Kyros' oversized clothing over Winnie's form fitting outfits. The baggy white sweats provided more heat, but the sensible fact could not keep a frown from Adrian's face.

"Why are you frowning?" she asked, turning to him as they crunched through the snow. "Is it still the sweats? You know I can't fit in Winnie's pants," Rita pointed out reasonably. Adrian noticed a cheerful note tainted her words, and recognized it immediately. She was happy to have some purpose again, instead of wandering the world aimlessly or rotting in a dungeon. Privately, he thought it fairly naïve of her to find a rescue mission exciting, but for once in his life, Adrian Amaro stifled his urge to scold her. "Adrian!" she snapped.

He realized he had been staring without listening, and tilted his head politely. "Yes?"

"I was saying…oh never mind. The short version is I'm right, you're wrong, and besides, Kyros' clothes smell better."

Which made Adrian bite back even more words. _How was it that a shifter could possibly smell better than a dragon?_ He wondered. 

"How do we go about it?" she asked. "Rescuing somebody?"

He shrugged as he guided her along a slippery slope. "I suppose we'll have to do everything quickly. To rescue somebody after they've died is a bit redundant, don't you think?" For once, she agreed with him.

"Have you ever done this before?" she asked worriedly as the distant chateau loomed closer.

"Rescue somebody?" It took some minutes for him to respond. "Well…not successfully. But this time, I will."

"And what makes you so sure?" she asked, still openly concerned. Adrian looked down at her and observed her wide, green eyes, now not hidden behind black frames. Verity Glisscielle was always certain, as far as he knew, and usually did not depend on other's opinions. 

"Because I have an almost-vampire with me," he said gallantly. Verity rolled her eyes, but smiled in spite of herself. Her shoulders relaxed suddenly, as if his confidence had given her some. Adrian's lips widened to a grin, but then stopped short. Was she happy of the prospect of their successful rescue, or the wasted preservation of that idiot fox?  


Verity carelessly glanced at her soul mate—for, it _was_ a careless glance, and definitely _not_ one of concern for his well being—and saw his inexplicably dark expression. Fearing that her distrust in the whole scheme had spread to him, she impulsively captured his unnaturally cold hand with her sleeve covered fingers.

Now, both were content and neither quite knew why. They treaded some more in silence, until Adrian, who now decided silences between soul mates were the second worst things in the world—the first worst things being fox shifters—spoke again. 

"Did it fix us?" His hand tightened in case his abrupt question startled her into pulling away. 

Verity chewed on her lip for a few minutes, unsure whether to feign ignorance or lie. Both options were cowardly, and left the third. "A little," she spoke tightly, embarrassed with the truth. Rita turned away to view the barren wilderness, but not swiftly enough that he could not spy the blush rising to her cheeks. "But we're not…" To say "fixed," or "fully repaired" sounded utterly ridiculous to even her own ears. This was tender relationship, she reasoned to herself, not a rusty automobile. So, unable to find the correct term, she allowed her words to trail off in the wind.

"Of course," he agreed easily, still sounding irritatingly arrogant in his conviction. "We're not…whatever it's called…at the moment. But we will be." With a resigned sigh, Rita knew her soul mate would forever maintain a healthy opinion of himself. _Oh well_, she thought, _it's better than being stuck with insecure pansy._

Verity decided it was time to change the subject, else her mind regressed Adrian to the ignorantly obnoxious man he once was. "Tell me why we're here," she demanded, startling her soul mate.

He stopped in his tracks and looked down at her. His sapphire eyes were strangely excited. "You don't want to rescue him either? Good, we can get off the island—"

"No," she corrected, flustered. "And it's not 'him,' it's 'them.' I meant to say was how did all this mess start? I only know what happened between Tana's death and your appearance in Anomina—and even that is still mysterious."

"Oh," he said to himself. Verity was slightly panicked to hear him disappointed, and wondered what she had done wrong. "Oh…well, this is my castle. Right, you knew that. Any way, it's very important to me and…"

"Shouldn't you start the beginning?"

"Okay," he said, mildly annoyed of being interrupted. "Right after the Colonies broke off from Brit for salutary neglect, I decided to buy some land on this island because—"

"Not that far back in the beginning," she interrupted again.

"Oh fine! I came to the Americas out of boredom, met Orin, had a card game, bastard cheated, and I lost the deed to this place."

"Well why didn't you just say so in the first place?" she asked in exasperation.

"I just did!" After a calming breath, Adrian continued. "I hardly cared for this lot or the palace until I remembered I had…er, certain treasures still in there. So, one thing led to another, and the only way to have the deed returned was a little…favor."

The last word was hesitantly said. "And that favor was?" Rita pushed, although she was fully aware of what the favor had been. Adrian glared at her and they stopped behind a particularly large snow dune.

"Don't judge, Miss High and Mighty," he warned. "It was very important to get that deed—"

"That stupid castle is worth the lives of hundreds of students?"

"Hell, Rita, we both know you didn't give a damn about those morons!"

His reply was presumptuous, ignorant, and…terribly similar to the truth. "That's not the point. The point is you have to reorganize your priorities if this—" she gestured from him to her "is going to work."

"Why do _I_ have to change _my_ priorities?" 

Verity stared up at him wonderingly. "Because you're the most screwed up!" she blurted, and instantly regretted her words. _But at least I was truthful._

"Aren't relationships supposed to be about compromise?" he pointed out snidely.

Now of all times he decided to suddenly know the secrets of a good marriage. _Funny how those secrets slipped his mind during our marriage_. "Oh, right," she said mockingly. "I'll lose my sense of common decency if you lose your habit of mass murders. Is that a fair trade?"

"I only had one _attempted_ mass murder and your sense of 'common decency'" and he had the audacity to make air quotes with his fingers "has been sadly lacking these past few months." Like his counterpart, Adrian immediately rued his choice of words.

"In what possible way did you think saying _that_ would have been a good thing?" she demanded heatedly.

"I…don't really know," he confessed, feeling foolish. "But, if it helps, I wish I hadn't tried to kill them all." He paused, pondering the situation as if pondering a math equation. "I should have just tortured Orin into telling me where he hid the deed, and then killed him. Your little friends shouldn't have gotten involved."

"And does guilt ever bother you?"

His expression abruptly became unreadable, and he shrugged casually. "Sometimes. I have ways to deal with it. But, Rita, you needn't go on. I understand; I should have killed just Orin, and left the student body alone."

Rita gazed at him helplessly. She didn't know how to explain to him that the very _idea_ of murder was wrong, not the number involved. But she supposed his new confessions proved some progress on his part, and she reluctantly admitted that her behavior towards some, unnamed males had been less than perfect.

"Oh," he said again, this time with a cheerfully surprised note. "Okay. So…is this done?"

"This being…"

"This fight," he quickly clarified. "Is it over?"

"Goodness, you make it sound like a trip to the dentist. Yes, it's done. But, Adrian, you do realize this won't be our last, don't you?"

He made a frustrated snarl, and his eyes widened in shock. "Why not?!"

"Because!" Verity was surprised by his lack of knowledge. Then she remembered that her soul mate had experienced only two romantic relationships in his life time, and neither had ended very well. "Because two people, even soul mates, do not constantly frolic and kiss as if everything is all right. Now don't look at me like that. There will be some fights, Adrian, I'm sure about that."

"I never saw my parents fought," he persisted. His stubbornness drove her to a sharp tongue and little patience.

"Well, Adrian, I'm sure you've never seen them fool around either, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen."

Adrian reeled back as if he had been struck. Then he looked as if he would vomit. "Aw, Rita, I did not need that image in my mind… Fuck, you didn't have say—damn. Damn, damn, damn." Then Rita wished she hadn't said anything at all, for now Adrian made movements of gouging his eyes out, which would have been a waste of lovely blue eyes.

"Change the subject?" she quickly proposed.

"Yes please," was the nauseated answer. For comfort, she grabbed his hand again and led him back to their original path.

"What did you mean 'attempted'? The children died, so it was successful." Adrian smiled inwardly, finding it amusing that, although she was a year younger than most of them, his soul mate considered the senior class mere 'children.'

The topic drew him away from his lurid thoughts, and Adrian explained it all with the tiniest of frowns.

The plan at the Soiree had been the glitter—her glitter. But nothing terribly magical. It appeared that, aside from irritating his soul mate, Adrian actually paid attention in Chemistry. After the confetti, coated with a specialized form of potassium, fell onto the humans, one of the Night World people were supposed to set off the fire sprinklers. Water and potassium bits were not good. And they were to watch as the innocents ran around, burning to death. Although she should have, Rita didn't scold him. Adrian looked sorry enough. But his next admission was enough to make her snap.

And he had managed it all by sneaking in the shadows and becoming things he was not. The idea provoked a question he should have feared.

Rita's steps slowed as realization quickened. "Who _exactly_ did you become?" He made various evasive sounds, none of which were satisfactory. "This is not an optional question, Adrian Amaro. Who?"

"Ah…yourcatOpheliateachersandthat'saboutit."

The rushing of words hadn't worked before, and it would not work now. She stopped dead in her frozen tracks. Adrian, knowing _another_ heated discussion was inevitable, led her behind a snow dune and waited for her to explode. He was not disappointed.

"My cat?" she shouted. The wind carried her voice away from the castle. "You mean I let you climb all over me and I rubbed your belly!?"

He couldn't really answer without smiling, so he shrugged and turned away. His soul mate hadn't stopped there. 

"And Ophelia? I took boy advice from my _soul mate_?" He turned back to her, now unexpectedly serious.

"When I said that, I thought you were talking about me…Who _were_ you talking about?"

"Bryan, of course!" Verity had tromped through the snow with her pacing but stopped in the shin deep tracks. Then she laughed softly. "And to think…you were the one who convinced me to try and like him." And it also meant she was never alone on Christmas or New Year's Eve. Verity felt terribly silly for wallowing in self pity on those days with Dog listening lazily. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a familiar frown pasted on his lips. "What now?"

"These recent conversations haven't exactly been pleasing," he retorted. 

"But they're helpful," she argued.

"How, exactly? Every time we speak, I look like a criminal."

"Never mind the fact that you are a criminal. Er, just kidding," she added when the frown deepened. "Any way, they help because this way, we won't find out anything unpleasant later on when things are really nice between us."

"A clean slate." Adrian said the words thoughtfully, and then flashed her a blinding smile so dazzling she quite forgot the guilty expression in his eyes. Seeing that her tirade was dead and buried, Adrian grabbed her sleeve covered hand and tugged her to the castle doors. Actually, he made her wait outside while he went in by himself. After a few minutes and painful cries, he bade her to enter.

Rita cringed as the door shut loudly behind them. "Adrian!"

The dragon winced and propelled his soul mate further into the ante room. "Sorry about that." They crept to the door, and Verity waited until Adrian said all was clear. With his hand resting on her lower back, Verity felt oddly comforted and didn't mind the dimness of the great hall they stepped into. Nor was she greatly disturbed by the corpses, presumably the product of her soul mate's hands, that Adrian piloted her around. Evidently, Adrian had a thing for castles with immediate great halls.

She couldn't believe they just waltzed up to the front door. Well, she could—she just couldn't believe he had a key. For a place he claimed he never visited, the key was remarkably worn down and he seemed to remember where everything was. He told her, with absolute resolve, to leave the main floor to him. He would guide her upstairs, direct her to the safely hidden rooms, and then he'd check the main floor. He would leave her to investigate as she pleased, but under no circumstances whatsoever would she investigate the main floor.

Gently tugged along by Adrian's knowing hand, they silently hiked up the glittering, beautiful stair case to their right. She had whispered that she wanted to investigate the one to the left, because it was green, and no harm came from the color green, but he was adamant. Rita did not like the color of it; she was certain nothing good ever awaited at the top of a black stair case.

"Oh wonderful," she sighed, "it seems that we're always in the dark. I swear, if we live, my house will have the lights on twenty four-seven." Adrian handed her the lamp they had brought with them in case of void-of-light emergencies. 

"It would be one hell of an electricity bill," he replied and checked one room. He waited until she finally figured out how to turn on the electric lamp before pulling her in.

"How can you let all of these go to waste?" she lamented quietly as he fingered the books. The library was enormous, and was so tall she had to tilt her head far back to see the top of the shelves. Rita suspected on every novel, satire, and drama laid an inch of dust, two inches minimum. 

"Oh, don't be so sentimental; most are hollow." Verity stepped closer and saw him crouched in a corner, just behind an enormous globe. She crouched beside him, wondering what on earth was he staring at so intently.

"Hollow? Why?"

"For hidden documents, of course." She shook her head for the natural paranoia in her soul mate. He pushed a book, Morgenstern, and the entire two bottom shelves pulled back with it. Once they slid back wards, the hollow books shifted to the right and disappeared behind the others. "All right," he said, dusting his hands, "go in." Rita set down the lamp and peered in.

"Why is it that this grand castle only has special holes that my hips can't fit through?"

"Don't be silly, it's—" Adrian studied the secret opening again. "Right, sorry about that. I guess it's easier for three horn dragons to shift into smaller animals and crawl in. But, Rita, I guess you'll just have to—"  


"Squeeze through," she sighed. It wasn't as narrow as it appeared, and Adrian helped her so that she slid down into the hidden room without a single scrape. "But, Adrian, what are the chances that Kyros and Winnie found this opening and went through?" she asked as he handed her the lamp.

"There are other ways to get in; they might have found it. Just be quiet."

"All right." Adrian smiled comfortingly as the books closed over her face. Verity found herself staring at darkness. The wall was blank, save the thin lines that showed the opening. She stood in a narrow hall, her head just inches away from the ceiling. Each end looked equally ominous. With a dismal sigh, she headed towards the right, and found a plethora of doors. All in different sizes, different colors, different styles. Rita paused in front of a large wooden one, that had two griffins emblazoned on it. With some heavy and determined tugs, it creaked open.

Much to her disappointment, there were no wild, mythological animals waiting inside. Instead it was a room full of weapons, and dusty weapons at that. All the sabers, axes, bows, and arrows appeared as if they hadn't been disturbed in centuries. There weren't even spiders or rats. Just silent nothingness. 

Rita suspected Adrian placed her on this floor so as to get her out of the way. Why were people always suspecting she would be a nuisance? With a shrug, she moved to a glass case and pried it open. Though she hardly believed she needed a small dagger to fight the dust bunnies, to have some sort of defense was reassuring. She tucked the iron dagger in her back pocket and left the room.

As she wandered farther down the hall way, she thought of what they hadn't spoken about. Even now, at least an hour later, Rita blushed and her hands tingled from the mere memory of it. A kiss. It certainly complicated things, mostly because she had thought she hadn't wanted a relationship. Romantic relationships always caused so much problems she didn't know why people bothered with them. Of course, there were those moments where couples cuddled and kissed; but was the brief heaven worth the hell it caused? 

She stumbled, lost in her thoughts, and almost fell down a flight of stairs. Verity reviewed their way up. One flight up led her here; another flight down would have led her down to the main floor. The forbidden floor. Her feet were stepping down even before she fully rationalized it.

Almost vampire, after all. Almost strong. She was sure she could handle whatever was down there. The stairwell only led to one hall way. And, at the end, there was only one door. Plain, white. Nothing special. But it was locked, unlike all the other doors. _Why on earth would Adrian lock a closet?_ With the help of the slim iron dagger and all her weight, it swung open. Cheerfully, Verity picked up the lamp and crept in.

Just a room. A bedroom. With dingy, frescoed walls. And a full length oval shaped mirror, with a chair beside it. A black farthingale. A canopied bed, and a—

The lamp slipped from her fingers, landing loudly on its bottom. 

Somebody lay in the bed. And next to her, a good luck faceless doll.

Verity took a few, fearful steps closer. It couldn't be her. She was dead. It couldn't be; there was no possible way.

She said so the indifferent, cold room. Tana was dead, for centuries. It could _not_ be her.

There was a glass case over her former body. Verity mechanically turned back and picked up the lamp, and returned to the corpse. 

Oh god. It was her.

Same dark, copper skin—now sort of yellowish. The fine eyebrows, the black crescent shapes of the eyelashes, the ridiculously petite body…the dainty little smile that defined Gitana Benevita Amaro.

"How could you?" she asked in a wounded voice. She wasn't speaking to Tana; that was impossible. To a soul mate who wasn't there. "How could you do this to me?"

It was a game of truths for god's sake. Truth; he sought it. But he didn't care enough to answer himself. The words echoed in her mind.

__

"You."

"Truly?"

"Without a question of a doubt." 

Verity smiled at her stupidity. "Liar," she whispered, fingers running over the transparent coffin. Something dripped into the glass—goodness, tears. Now was not the time for tears. Her eyes didn't respond; just filling and refilling with the salty heartache. She kissed him, laughed with him, trusted him…

Her head snapped up when another door at the opposite wall clicked several times before swinging open.

"Speak of the devil," Rita murmured as her shocked soul mate walked into the room. Something like a diary in his hand.

Adrian stared at her. She looked so wistful, dusty hands soiling the coffin. And she cried, without shame or embarrassment. He knew that she knew. And yet, Verity said nothing.

"Rita, please," he pleaded when she looked back at the girl. "You don't understand…I had to save you. It hurt—seeing you in the fire. I didn't know it would hurt. Rita, please, look at me. I _had_ to save you."

Rita said nothing; frozen in sadness as her soul mate crept closer.

"I couldn't bear to bury you—not after…I just couldn't bear it. Please, Rita—I never meant for you to find her…" He had come to fix things. He had told her to stay away until he made sure everything was all right. Until—until…"I was going to clean the slate," he tried to explain. The intensity of his pleading grew, for second by second Adrian could feel it all slipping away. The tender understanding woven between them now unraveled rapidly and without any hope of repair.  


A salty pool grew on the case, just above the gypsy's chest. Her heart.

It hurt. It wasn't supposed to hurt. She didn't love him and he never loved her. It wasn't supposed to hurt like this. Like dying. 

"You don't understand. I never wanted to hurt you. I never thought I did…but I knew, when you blew a kiss at me…I changed you and I'm sorry. I've been sorry. Please Rita—please just listen to me!" No. This relationship was not slipping away. She was. 

He had no right to raise his voice at her. No right at all. He took everything away—first Jorge, and then her chances of normalcy. If only he hadn't met her. If only he hadn't showed her what completion was… Then, without knowing, she could have been happy. 

"I never wanted this," he desperately continued to explain. "But since you died, I wake up miserable. And I tuck it away, because I have no time for misery but when I can't tuck it away I come here. I see you. And you're smiling, and so at peace…and I feel better just being here beside you…please say you understand."

That selfish son of a bitch. Keeping her body here just for the sake of "feeling better." It was excruciating, but she refused to cringe. She refused to sob, or bawl, or fly at him in rage. Instead she remained turned away from him, hurting him with silence.

So this was what he meant by trying to rescue somebody, until too late.

"Verity, please… I'm sorry I lied. I didn't know I was lying until the dream. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" His mouth poured forth the words, but his mind didn't know why. Reason told him to stop. She would not forgive him so easily. If the situations were reversed, he would have hardly acknowledged her.

Now, of all times he said he was sorry. This was why she couldn't go in the main floor. This was why he wanted the deed so much. This was why he'd gaze at her sometimes with such longing—wishing she was her old self. It was too late to apologize, not after so many chances. She didn't give a damn if he was sorry.

He tenderly caught her hand.

Verity pulled back, disgust contorting her face. It wouldn't have been right, to free that radiance of their link in the blackest moment of her life. Rita stepped back, now parallel with the gypsy's face.

"Don't touch me," she said calmly.

Adrian stared at her helplessly. Oh no…now he was crying too. And he was just ashamed of the tears as she once was. How ironic that the only smiling person in the room was the dead one.

"Verity, please, I never meant to—"

"_I hate you_," Verity interrupted. Her voice a sweet whisper in the inky blackness. "Might as well have killed me, Adrian. It would have stung less…I truly, truly _hate_ you."

He looked as if she had stabbed him. He stiffened as if the world was about to end. She had said so before, in anger, in Spanish, in her own memories…but never like this. Never so seriously.

"Don't say that," he pleaded quietly. Adrian stepped forward, and she evaded again. "Please, Verity, don't say that."

"But I can't help it," she wept. Absently, she wiped the tears away. "Oh, god, Adrian, I wish I didn't. But you made me."

"Please, querida, I—" 

"_No_. I hate you." She bit her lip, and he knew whatever words came out would pain both of them. "And," she continued determinedly, "when I die, and when I'm reborn…don't come to me. Don't talk to me and don't ever remind me of you. God…I hate you so much I just want to…" She didn't know what she wanted. It ached to talk to him. 

He hurt her again. After he was sorry, after everything, he still struck at her. It wasn't right. He was the villain and he wasn't allowed to succeed with that. So many times. So many times he won and bit at her soul and it wasn't fair. 

"You don't understand!" she raged tearfully. Rita swiftly released the words, breathless and forceful at the same time. "But you _should!_ You know what it's like to be tricked and abandoned and measured up to a standard you can't possibly reach and you still want me to forgive you! _Why_, Adrian? Why should I forgive you?"

He shook his head, unable to respond. Tears fell as he squeezed his eyes shut. He did understand. To have something so delicate…trust, or at least something like it…build up for so long. To have it ripped away, and then returned in terrible condition. To wish and wish to change and be something else for the sake of a loved one…

And never reach that goal.

"And what would you do if I did?" she asked, though her eyes were not on him. Eyes on _it_. "What would you do with my forgiveness? Treasure it? Hug me and lie to me and tell me that you love me?" She shook her head, seemingly scolding herself for fantasizing it. "It will you mean that you've won again. And everything you've won, you've defeated—" she caught herself and smiled wanly. The curve was not in her heart, but Rita felt the small gesture might have helped one of them. "And there are so few victories…I guess you must display them somehow." Verity shook her head again, so damn reasonably. "And I don't want to be put in a glass coffin."

The last words seared through him. That invisible knife in his heart was cruelly but necessarily twisted. "I'm sorry, Rita," he said thickly, backing away. Back into the shadows. "I truly am."

"I don't care any more, Adrian. I truly don't."

Distantly, she heard the door click several times again. For some reason she couldn't quite grasp, Adrian tried to grab her hand again. She pulled away, and with glassy eyes she watched him change into something very small and crawl under the bed. Then she turned back to Gitana. Tana had always been perfect, despite her childish ignorance. Perfect; and nobody could ever be like her. Not even her own soul.

Somebody roughly grabbed her arms, and twisted them back. A coarse rope began binding her wrists together. Blinking from her daze, Verity glanced around. 

There was more light in the room. There were two muscled men, one of them tying her up. Somebody had to be the ring leader. 

And then he stepped into the room. For the third time in one day, she felt frozen by shock. It wasn't possible…it could not be possible…

"Jared?"

The face rippled; Jared, Scott Buffington, then Ophelia, then Adrian and… and a stranger stepped into the room. "No…just felt like messing with your head. But, we have met before, haven't we?"

~*~*~*~

****

light could show me nothing sweet?"

Sophocles, _Oedipus Rex_  


I'm such a hypocrite. I politely scold my fav authors for cliff hangers, but look what I go and do. Bad, shame on me. But, not too suspenseful, right? 

Now please click on "submit review" below and write stuff!


	20. Verity

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Whew…y'all, it's been a rough two months. I'll never, for the life of me, never understand the teachers' motivations to make every project and paper due on the exact same day. I bet they all have a monthly meeting and say, "Let's give them lengthy and immense projects in every class, and then make them turn it on the 12th!" Evil teachers, evil, evil, EVIL teachers! Any way, any of you in American colleges, I'd like to know about APA format because apparently nobody has the right answers here—references organized chronologically or alphabetically? Email me the answer or review, whatever.

And, sorry again, but I've irresponsibly devoted some of my time to a new L.J. Smith story. I just get really distracted by new ideas which explains why I have ten million unfinished fanfictions. And I don't want to make anybody look forward to the next one (which once again features our favorite fox shifter) because I've had two months and I've only written one chapter. 

Any way, it's not the education system's fault or creativity's fault I've procrastinated for so long. If I was a dedicated writer who truly cares about her readers, I would have stayed up until the wee hours in the morning to finish. The truth is, I had another version of this chapter as well, but I just didn't like the inappropriate comedy in it, so I rewrote the entire thing. As I've said before, I'm not very talented with ending things. But I tried my hardest because after all of your patience, you reviewers do not deserve a half-assed ending. So here's my last chapter (I think), fully assed! ;0) Oh and please keep an open mind in this chapter and pay attention! Wow, I sound like a school marm! Hee, hee, "marm" is a weird word. 

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Alison: The next chapter will be up…now. Yup, just in case you haven't figured it out by now. ;0) Any way, I'm glad you're enjoying it—because it was just be mean to be glad when readers aren't enjoying it—and hopefully you'll still like it after this chapter.

Mad Angel: Okay calm down! I'm glad you're so enthusiastic about it. And thanks for reviewing on multiple occasions! I'd love to hear from you again so if you could…please review?

Anonymous: I'm glad to help! With finals and everything, every day has been a crappy day for me, so I know how you feel. I'm glad you like him! Well, I followed your encouragement and I kept writing—it was incredibly hard!—so here ya go!

Martha: Very misleading, sorry about that. And you can read the fake jared in this chapter! Please read and review. 

More than u know: Sorry, this was the longest gap I've ever had between updates! Very sorry it wasn't soonish! All will explained in this chapter—at least I think it's all, not sure…and of course, I would be very much annoyed if one of my beloved animals turned out to be my soul mate. Any way please review!

Aife Bisclaveret: Hiya and thanks for reviewing. Yes, I finally realize there's a universal hatred for cliffies, but hey, what can you do? Thierry was accidentally funny, and I'm sure he'd be pissed to know his serious side wasn't taken seriously. Any way, I love those little keebler elves! Mean people say when I express this wish, "Look in the mirror." But I can't cook. Any way, try and review this time but not too harshly please?

ArrA: Yes, and those damn cliff hangers! I hate them…if I wasn't writing them myself, hehe, sheepish! And, remember—not to be ominous—but not all stories are about happy endings, but the overall message. I know Adrian isn't the most stable person, but then again, neither is Verity. Thanx for the review and do so again!

Finyda: Yes, I'm usually reckless with my cliff hangers and I apologize for any hyperventilation or strokes that last chapter induced! And you'll find out "who who who" in this chapter, though some people have already figured it out. Any way, even if the thought has occurred to me, I'd like to ignore the possible relationship between batman and robin because batman is my favorite superhero…:0) 

Oli: If you go back and read, you'll see it's not the actual Jared. But you don't have to because things will get clearer in this chapter. I hope you still like my story after this chapter…though you'd have to be a truly loyal fan and see the bigger picture to really like it. I love Kyros!! It might be evil to say this, but I love him more than Jared…and yes, poor Adrian. Boys never learn. It's so cold right now too! May in the South is supposed to be warm. I hope you review!

Crydwyn: Thank ya bunches, I was worried them arguing right after a kiss was a bit too Punch and Judy. And yes, all the things incorporated in the story are necessary. I've said it before and I'll say it again. A means to an end. And there's always a way to get out of a tangle…just a bunch a ways people don't approve of.

Falcon: Hey you're name is in my next story! Any way, I know cliffhangers are tough to deal with, but it makes…um…yeah, I have no excuse. I was going try to BS my way through this, but there's no excuse for me ending it so gasp-y and not updating for so long. Other than the fact that I'm incurably selfish. And I was tired of writing and seeing serious Thierry so I thought still-serious-but-accidentally-funny Thierry would be fun to see. And I'm glad to finally make somebody cry for not a sad reason!

H: um, h right back at ya!

Vague Verity

****

Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn,

Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;

People often claimed trauma, but Verity would have never have guessed it would feel this bizarre, nor this calm. Similar to the shock of Jared's death, yet not quite as painful, nor deafening. As if she was on the outside looking in, fatalistically detached. She heard nothing save the furious rhythm of her heart, and watched listlessly as the images slid in and out of the seductive shadows. 

Jared would find this funny. Maria would too, because that woman loved her irony. Verity made a note to tell this story once she left this island. She would have to remember every detail, because neither Jared nor Maria deserved a poorly told tale. So she looked around, drinking in everything. The dusty furniture, the icy marble floor, the darkness so deep it swallowed the weak light emanating from that lamp…

That lamp, held by the palest hand she ever saw. _Oh_, Rita thought absently, _Jared would hate that._ Jared disapproved of people staying inside, hiding from the sun so that their skin was nearly translucent. Jared would have hated Rita being the dungeon for so long. She would just have to reassure him that that boy helped her out.

That boy, she repeated to herself. The very pale woman was scrutinizing her, perhaps with worry or confusion. But Rita turned away, because she didn't like those eyes. No, gazing into those azure ice chips hurt too much. They reminded her of—of…

She took two languid steps backwards, closer to the core of the blackness. Here, it was easier to think. Here, there was not so much to process, not so much to bear. Rita saw nothing and enjoyed her lack of knowledge. 

__

Things would have been so much better if I hadn't known…

She would have found him. Valdis would have encouraged her to go find what she was looking for, instead of sitting around idly. He was that sort of person. So she stepped forward, but couldn't, she soon learned. What was this holding her back?

The world did not come back to her; instead, she felt herself pulled swiftly to a distant scene of a woman, and a man—

With a terrified gasp, Rita fell back against the person holding her tightly. Jared was dead, she remembered. How she envied him.

Her worried green eyes flickered rapidly about the dark chamber, and finally rested to the girl in front of her. And Adrian.

Neither of them noticed her. The girl—woman, Rita corrected. A beautiful, queen like ideal of femininity, the stranger was everything Rita had once wanted to be. She remembered her, but only slightly. In her tangled memories, Verity did not recall the woman looking so terrified.

"Look what you've done to her," Adrian ordered in a low feral growl. Rita shivered at the sound of it. It was tone she hadn't heard for ages; the silkily deep flow of his voice that made her instinctively tense, waiting for the blow. His handsome features were now twisted with effortless cruelty. 

He was not the Adrian that had apologized to her. This was not the same man who saved her from the cold, who held her close and comforted her—

No. This was her husband.

And to attest her new realization, Adrian reached forward so quickly his arm was a mere blur. The woman tried to back away, and Rita, had she been able to find her voice, would have told her not to bother. Adrian was too quick to escape. Verity bit her lip as the woman cried out in pain. She knew that his grip on the woman's arm would be harsh. 

"Didn't I tell you to look? I swear, Calida, if she is harmed in any way—"  


"But she's not!" Calida whimpered, and then winced. _I hated the sound of my voice too_, Rita told her silently, _when Adrian frightened me_. "She's not hurt, Adrian, please…she's fine." Adrian did not bother to believe Calida's words. "Just look, damn you, just look! Just…stop hurting me."

Rita nearly cried. It was ridiculous to cry for this woman. But it made her heart ache to see such poise, such beauty, crumbling under the merciless treatment of a heartless criminal. Rita thought it such a waste of energy and affection for an obviously powerful woman such as Calida to love him.

Now Adrian did look, and in a second he forgot Calida's very existence. Instantly he was at her side, snarling at the guard to release her before he dismembered him. Frantic with concern, Adrian drew her into his arms. Gone was the sneer from his lips. Looking up at him, Rita could not find a trace of the violent fire in his eyes nor the tenseness in his jaw. He was her Adrian again by all appearances.

"She's fine," Calida said stonily. Adrian did not bother to acknowledge her as he began to free Rita's hands.

"Are you all right?" he asked her anxiously. "Did he hurt you?" Rita avoided his gaze, and tried to pull away, ineffectually. "You fainted, I think. Don't worry, Rita, I'll—"

"How did you escape your cell?" Calida asked. Again, he ignored her. Without fear, Calida was herself again, and Verity felt all former hatred flooding back. "Dammit, if you don't turn away from that vermin, I will kill her."

"Then you would die soon afterwards, " Adrian retorted calmly. Adrian's hand rose to check her pulse, and he frowned when she flinched away. He continued despite her discomfort, but merely said, "Your blood pressure is low. We'll need—"

"Adrian," Calida said imperiously. Now assured of her relative well being, Adrian turned away from his soul mate and faced her. "I am serious. I will kill that girl with pleasure."

"As was I. You will die, Calida, if you dare touch her." His voice was soft yet deadly. But now she was not so easily intimidated.

"I," she pronounced clearly, " would gladly risk my life if it meant living in a world where she did not belong, albeit for a few seconds." Her tone softened, and the stranger stepped closer. "Think, Adri," she advised in an intimate whisper, "you are surrounded by my men, and I have hundreds more on hand. Even if you escape the castle with her safely, there's no guarantee you'll make it off the island."

Standing behind him, Rita could see his shoulders tense as his eyes surveyed the room. They were surrounded by ten or more men, all of whom were armed and ready. A few eyed Verity hungrily and, against her better judgment, she stepped closer to her soul mate. 

Though he was in no position to bargain, Adrian nodded and said, "I will answer your questions, Calida, if you all leave us alone." He took the time to let his unnerving gaze rest on each of the henchmen, so that by the time he looked to Calida again, all were ready to comply at her signal. Half went through the door Verity had used, and the other half exited through which they came. 

"You too, Calida," Adrian ordered when their captor appeared ready to close them in. Verity watched with wide eyes as Calida realized that, when Adrian said "us," he had meant him and his soul mate. "For a few moments," he added upon observing her angry mortification. "I just need to speak to her alone. I would like to speak to you when she understands." His tone was so patronizing Verity did not believe for one moment that Calida would obey. Not only that, but to leave them alone would be complete idiocy. 

"It is no use to try and plan an escape. You cannot leave now without my men watching," she informed them coolly before stepping outside. The door was left open an inch, Rita noticed.

Again, she found herself in his arms. "Let go," she demanded, looking at any thing but him. Her eyes cowardly focused upon her abandoned lamp, which slowly guttered and vanished into the darkness. If not for that woman's extra light, Verity would have been left to depend on Adrian for sight. And she was not ready to trust him for anything.

It surprised her when he refused, considering he was willing to do anything for her forgiveness just a few moments earlier.

"Ecoute-moi," he whispered very closely to her ear. "Elle ne parle pas francais."

"Why?" she demanded skeptically. The woman was obviously European and, considering how long she and Adrian had lived, Verity could not believe the woman hadn't picked up some French along the way.

"Because, in the past, England and France haven't been the best of friends," he snapped in English, because she had spoken in English. "Mais pas maintenant. Je sais que tu es un petit peu furieuse avec moi—"

"Un petit peu," Verity repeated incredulously. "It's a lot more than a 'little bit,' Adrian. And why does she call you Adri?"

"Francais, Verity," he scolded, shaking her shoulders. With one scorching glance on the offensive hands, Adrian released her, but stayed very close. "Je n'ai pas d'idee maintenant, mais quand l'opportunite arrive—"

"L'opporunite de quoi?" She glanced around the room and so nothing of these said opportunities. "D'echapper?"

"Non, the opportunity to have tea with the bitch," he answered dryly. For the sarcasm and for the offensive term, she pinched his arm painfully. "Of course to escape. S'il te plait, Verity, soit cooperatif."

"Why does it matter?" she asked in nearly inaudible tones. "What does it matter whether I cooperate, and we some how make it alive? You prefer dead soul mates any way." Adrian winced and then spoke through clenched teeth. Since she had abandoned any pretense of hiding their communication, he did the same.

"Verity, if we do not leave soon, Calida will have you changed and then killed. You would not come back."

"All for the better then," she hissed. "And it does not matter. Death as a vampire would not change the fact that it doesn't affect you. Even if we do live, and I die eventually, we've agreed that you will not meet me when I am reborn."

"Yes we have," he shot back in an equally virulent tone. "But you are my soul mate, and anything that happens to you would affect me. And I'd rather have you living until Doomsday without speaking a word to me, than have you die an undeserving and early death with me." Adrian spoke gravely, without a hint of sentimentality. 

His last words caused her to, finally, meet his intense eyes. "What do you mean, 'with'—"  


"I'll create a diversion—" he continued when she interrupted.

"She won't kill you." Verity wasn't sure if she had made a statement or proposed a question. "She loves you."

"Yes," he agreed. "She does. But she loves her pride as well. Calida won't stand to be humiliated, even by the one she loves. She'll either kill me or leave me. Or both," he added with dry humor. Verity did not laugh, slowly realizing the chilling parallels between her and her nemesis.

"But what does it matter?" Adrian asked in a harder tone. "If I die here, what does it matter? You're determined to never see me again. What difference does it make if I die here, instead of living the rest of my life avoiding yours?"

Anger flared up swiftly and intensely. "Don't you dare, 'Adri' Amaro. I'm not the psycho with a dead body in a display case!" She was confused, and furious for having been confused. For some reason, it was very easy to envision her death. But Adrian, who had been living far away and in the recesses of her mind for thousands of centuries, was an entirely different matter. The world without Adrian Amaro was not unnecessarily worse, but it was not better either. 

"Don't call me Adri," he warned, almost comically. "I hate that name. Also, that's just what it is. A dead body. It means _nothing_ now. And for god's sake, Rita, just focus! Once they're distracted—"

"There's at least ten men, Adrian. I'll be killed." An indescribable expression passed over Adrian's features at that aspect.

"No, I'll take care of the ones at that door." He gestured to the door Calida had exited. Upon seeing it slightly ajar, he picked up the lantern and threw it so forcefully at the door it slammed shut. A frightening click told them it locked automatically. The blackness instantly swallowed them mercilessly. Rita steeled herself against any fear, knowing, despite the darkness, that Adrian was not intimidated.

"Oh dear," Verity whispered, although no one was near enough to hear them. "She won't like that."

"Yes, well, I don't like being knocked out and locked up in my own castle. You run out that door, and then you turn right. After some distance you'll see the main entrance we went through—"

"Kyros and Winnie!" she remembered suddenly. "We can't leave without Kyros and Winnie."

Adrian ground his teeth in an effort to tether the biting reprimand. With his entire being, he could not fathom the importance of those two. What was one less shifter, or one less witch? But his soul mate was stubborn, that he could easily understand. So she would either try to find them once she left the room, with or without his help. Better with.

"If you insist on saving that stupid, mangy bastard," Adrian retorted without hiding his animosity, "then turn left and take the first turn on your right. It's the door at the end of that hall way, though the smell of unwashed fur will probably help you find it."

She did not have time to correct his view of Kyros. "Okay," she breathed with relief. "And then I'll come back for you?" 

Adrian stared down at her, utterly confused. He would never, ever, _ever_ understand women. Perhaps Rita was willing to look past this morbid discovery. Perhaps she cared for him more than she herself even realized. Or perhaps, he thought dully, she wasn't entirely certain how to leave the castle.

The door over her shoulder, through which she had entered moments before, shook slightly. Adrian stared at it with narrowed eyes. "Yes…no. I'll meet you outside," he answered absently, and gently pushed her aside. Now the door knob rattled. Perhaps the henchmen were growing antsy. 

"Adrian, please. Tell me the truth." The anxiety in her voice caused him to turn to her. "You won't go all noble and try to sacrifice yourself?"

He smiled slightly. "You know, I don't think I'll ever be guilty of getting 'all noble.' But, I promise. I'll find you." Now even Verity heard the disturbing activity behind the ancient door. They both stood, tensely awaiting the attack.

But her rival, Rita learned, was annoyingly sneaky. They planned it, she thought with indignation, as the other door—that totally unguarded, still door—silently swung open and the enemy poured through. Of course, through the palpable darkness, she saw none of this. But Adrian's fiery curses and the noises from the opposite side of the chamber said enough. Verity barely had time to register the underhanded mode of attack when she was roughly grabbed, kissed, and felt Adrian's urgent words.

__

Run.

But I can't see, she argued, understandably panicked. In a kiss that lasted a few precious seconds, Verity not only heard his thoughts but felt all his emotions. One of them was hesitance, and then hardened resolve soon followed.

Without warning, he brusquely hurled her away. She collided violently with another man, but the shooting pain in her head was not priority. A bone chilling cry shook the room, and halted all the men in their tracks. Its rough voice seemed to writhe in growing anguish, as if the feral creature drew nearer to its misery. And although she terror froze her as much as it did the others, Verity felt her sore limbs move towards the sound. Because she had caught a hint of Adrian in it.

At once, there was a blinding light. The wild array of orange and red was accompanied by blistering heat. In her effort to scramble over the man she had accidentally ambushed and caused to fall on his own weapon, Verity barely had time to glance over her shoulder to ascertain the source. 

The bed and all its contents, and everything in it, was slowly but surely engulfed by the flames. A majority of Calida's men had conveniently reached the area near Gitana's final resting place, so that they too fell victim to the unexpected inferno. She could not see if the woman was caught in the grasping arms of the fire, but somebody more important was gradually falling into view.

The twitching flames offered swift and fleeting jolts of light, so she could not see Adrian as a whole. But she saw enough to know what had happened. A grotesquely enormous claws, hard and shiny scales glimmering with blood and fire. A quick flash of the huge tail, the loud scrapes turning her stomach as it swept against the floor to strike henchman after another. And, for just a few moments, two cobalt orbs framed by iridescent lids of immense size gazing at her wistfully. The gaping jaws moved slightly, silently blazing with his earlier word.

Run.

No doubt there was a hellish cacophony ignited by the blaze, but the staggering agony of the reptilian savage rang in her ears. It had hurt him, so much so that he screamed, to change to an animal of that size and power. He had always told her it was difficult for a three-horned dragon to change into larger animals. But he had…for her.

Blindly, with only half a mind of her steps, she ran down the corridor and turning at the appropriate halls. Her leg muscles, which had endured cramps, icy water, and long treks, now protested the exercise. Sporadic and pitifully small torches assisted her until she finally reached the door that held her friends. Enraged disappointment slashed through Verity when she realized it was locked. 

"I can't," she murmured desperately, scratching at the entrance, looking for some way to break through. "I can't." Rita had no energy left to break it down. Her hands fumbled uselessly, and her panic heightened by the second. How much time had passed? A few seconds? Minutes? How long would they last? How long would he last? 

"Kyros! Winnie!" In despair, she slumped against the wall. It was hopeless. Adrian had sacrificed himself for nothing. There was the option of finding another way in, but Rita had not the sensibility nor energy to try. She didn't want to die here, nor cause so many others—

Something suddenly bit into her back. Just as she remembered the knife in her back pocket, metallic clang and raised voices flowed through the door. She sprang to her feet, ready to fight just as Adrian had, when the massive wooden slab abruptly gave way. Again, the persistent dimness concealed the identity of the one responsible. Rita maintained her fighting stance, though her weapon trembled uncontrollably. Faintly, she spied bright red hair…

"Kyros!" she shrieked with breathless joy. 

"Jeez, you forget to save a girl and she almost stabs you—" he muttered jokingly as she fell into his arms. The embrace was necessary physically as well as emotionally. The fox shifter felt her knees quaking against his, and her heart pounded as if attempting escape. In concern for her safety as well as his, the Kyros gently disarmed her and placed the knife back in her waist band. With minor panic himself, he realized the girl was near tears. Awkwardly, he patted her shoulders.

"Winnie!" was her next ecstatic exclamation, unfortunately close to his ear. The two girls clutched tightly to each other, and tears fell from both green and blue eyes. Watching the two, Kyros suddenly realized Verity had been searching from them with the same passion of rescue as Winnie had for her. It was a moment of elation that neither he, nor Thierry, could understand the girls' need to demonstrate it _now_. There were other pressing matters. Escape, for one, and escape being the other.

"Do you smell smoke?" Thierry asked him curiously. Upon concentration, Kyros confirmed the charred scent. Verity, who hadn't noticed the new arrival, now pulled away from her friend and regarded him warily. Kyros had to admire her. Nothing but a pitiful human, but she was ready to defend a witch and a fox shifter from a muscular man with an enchanted ax in hand and a torch in the other.

"I'm Thierry," his boss said curtly. "I'm their displeased employer and the man who bought your house. Do you know a way out and preferably away from the fire?" Verity, dazed with the past hour's events, shook her head numbly. "Do you know who's responsible for this entire mess?"

"For god's sake, Thierry," Kyros cut in roughly, "interrogate the poor girl later. We have to go."

Grudgingly, the man agreed and they propelled her to another door. Rita allowed herself to be led like a child until they heard a piece of architecture crumble and shatter, presumably from the scorching. 

"Well," Kyros said cheerfully, rubbing his sore muscles with one hand and supporting Rita with the other. The four gazed thoughtfully at one door, which seeped acrid smoke through every opening. "I bet fifty that that one has something burning behind it."

"Gee, Kyros, you think?" Winnie coughed caustically. As they swiftly moved to the only other door still passable, Kyros pretended to ponder her question.

"That," he chirped, "or the fiery gates of hell have opened right here in Sunnydale."

"For god's sake you two," Thierry growled and paused uncertainly in the corridor, now billowing with smoke. "Either of you know which way you came in?"

"That way," Winnie answered solemnly and nodded towards the end that glowed with hellish flames. "And I'm certain there's no back door."

"Can you make a back door?" Thierry's steely tone made an order out of a question, and without another word they moved the opposite direction. Already Rita felt the smoke slither into her eyes, and into her lungs, cruelly stinging her sight and her voice. Belatedly, the stalwart men realized the struggle their female companions were forced to make against the fire and resorted to half crawling and half dragging across the freezing marble floor. Relief came in the form of Winnie's frustration, and her misplacing it on a priceless antique window they happened to inch by brought in clean arctic air. Through blurred eyes Rita saw that the sun had just set, and she prayed Adrian was still waiting outside the front entrance, and that he hadn't tired of waiting and left altogether.

__

Wait, she begged, unsure whether the plea remained silent in her head or was choked desperately through her dry, cracked lips. _Just wait a few seconds._

A tiny stabbing started abruptly in her mind, nearly paralyzing her if not for Kyros' strong grip wrapped around her shoulders. 

Wait.

As far as her sore body allowed her, Rita glanced around her. There was no one else around them, unless they somehow managed to travel through the dark, cloudy stream above them. On the icy floor she saw nothing but the Daybreakers and broken furniture. 

__

Wait! The violence of the thought staggered her.

Her barely suppressed whimper would have distracted her protective guide if not for Winnie's loud curse. For the third time, she had used her powers to demolish the walls, and for the third time, they found another room.

The word came again. _Wait, please wait._

But it was not her own. A completely foreign entity had linked to her mind, completely freezing her in her tracks, despite Kyros' stern tugs.

__

Wait, querida, don't leave me.

Adrian?

It was a fear she had refused to acknowledge the moment she left him. He was not outside, waiting in the snow. Her soul mate had decided, against her wishes, to indeed go "all noble," and sacrifice himself. Now, back in the horrible death room, he was most likely dying. All because of her. 

"Verity!" It not Kyros who spoke so dangerously soft, but his "displeased employer." The handsome young man looked at her menacingly, daring her to disrupt their retreat. "Verity Glisscielle, you either speed up or we'll help you speed up." For a man who claimed to wish the unity of humans and Night World species, he wasn't very friendly.

"Wait," she begged. 

__

Wait, Adrian echoed pleadingly. His raw fear and intense pain slid into her fluidly, slowing every thought, tainting every emotion. She could not go on. Verity could not take another step, knowing it was farther away from him. 

"Why?" Winnie demanded. "I have one more wall to break through and I don't care if it leads to a frozen swamp land. I am getting you out of here."  


"Because—because," she sputtered gaspingly. 

__

Wait, querida, please. I need you.

Although Arlin and Snow glared at her, Mr. Thierry understood immediately. "Are you sure it's worth it?" he asked, not explaining what "it" was. Rita wished he had, for now her mind raced with what exactly "it" was. Did he mean Adrian? Did he mean her risk of going back to save him? Or had he meant the risk of sending all of them back for just one man she wasn't sure she liked?

__

Hurry, querida, now. An edge lined the sharp thought that sliced through her. _Now, come to me now._

Wait, Adrian.

No, shouted the man in anguish. _Our link…it's growing weak._

Winnie croaked the last words of her spell, and four massive marble blocks gave way, revealing the cool black night. Wind howled in, feeding the hungry flames.

__

But, Rita calculated quickly now that she was faced with an ultimatum. Kyros bodily shoved Winnie out the opening, and, after ensuring the human was safe with Thierry, soon leaped into the chilly blackness.

__

But what? Adrian asked, a note of helplessness slipping into thoughts.

But we've never had a link before. That's why you had to kiss me to tell me to run. 

No, querida, it's not—

And I asked you to stop calling me that. And…

"We have no link," Rita whispered. Her green eyes widened at the realization. "It's not Adrian," she told Thierry breathlessly. "It's her. The one who caused everything. It's her."

"Who?"

"Calida…she's still alive. We have to leave, we have to go right now—"

__

Don't you want to know how I killed your sister, your mother? hissed the stranger. Calida's glacial voice drilled into her mind, causing agony that was just as casual as it was brutal. _Don't you want to know how I killed your class mates?_

"Calida," Thierry repeated with a look of concentration. "Calida Solanum?"

"I don't know," Verity said through grit teeth, because it was very difficult to fight the cold snarls in her head and carry out a conversation with a stranger. "Blonde, tall, very old—"

"But," Thierry continued to argue, heedless of the looming fire, "she died…"

__

If you leave now, Calida persuaded sweetly, _you'll never know. You'll never know why, you'll never know how, you'll never know…_

That's not enough, Verity retorted fiercely. _You're trying to trick me, just to kill me._

Stay, _Verity Glisscielle_. _You're not right the way you are._

And what way am_ I?  
_

"…she was a great illusionist at her time. No, Rita, we can't possibly go back. She can make you see anything—"

__

Alive, was the vicious whisper.

"That's your opinion," Rita shot back angrily. Thierry frowned.

"No, I'm fairly certain she will kill you if she has the chance." Rita focused on the man before her, and realized the truth of the entire situation. 

"You're right," she said breathlessly. Thierry nodded and made movements to help her out the makeshift door. Calida continued to mentally torment her, but Verity struggled to remain the mature of the two.

__

Not willing to fight? That's just like the French.

I'm half Spanish, she retorted with scornful pride. 

Even worse, the woman mocked. Only Thierry's steady hand on her arm kept her from running back into the fire. Calida's taunting grew more hateful as the possibility of Rita's escape drew nearer. 

__

Arsenic is so flammable. 

Rita didn't respond. She was too distracted by the burning Persian rug that was disturbingly close to Winnie's door. Faintly, she could hear Kyros' cursing and Winnie's praying down below. She concentrated on their voices instead of Thierry's struggle to extinguish the flames. Vampires were flammable too, she observed, but the boss refused any assistance Verity offered.

__

The arsenic preserving the body, Calida continued. _Your body. Lovely colors you give off._

If the little harlot was attempting to hurt her, Rita concluded, she was doing a terrible job at it. Verity held not attachments to the dainty little corpse any more than she had attachment to any other life. Calida sensed it and tried another tactic. Which was very successful.

__

Leaving so soon?

Thierry managed to hurl away the carpet and the threatening tapestry hanging just above their exit. Urgently, he offered his hand, clear eyes demanding her cooperation.

__

Then that will be two _Amaros killed by fire._

Verity felt the truth in her thoughts. It was just as Adrian predicted. The witch's pride outweighed her love for him. Rita hesitated. 

"Now or never," Thierry threatened, which, Rita vaguely thought, was unnecessarily dramatic. She was sure there were other doors in the castle. But, with Calida no longer communicating—a very bad sign—and the window of opportunity to ever truly know how and why closing, Verity's expression hardened with resolve.

Her singed and trembling hand took Thierry's. 

"It was nice meeting you," she said firmly as she shook it, and turned away. Before he could say anything, she had darted between the flames and back into the inferno. The elder sighed disappointedly and swiftly leapt through the wall. He undoubtedly had some explaining to do to his Daybreakers.

As soon as she made fatal decision, the entirely chateau abruptly changed. It was as if the destruction had never occurred, and dark decay had never set in. One second Verity had been crawling in sooty agony, and the next she found herself lying on a bright, sparkling corridor. The polished marble reflected her dumbfounded expression as she slowly stood, and quietly retraced her steps to Gitana's final chamber. 

That was the same. There was hardly any light, save the charred remains of Adrian's anger. Everything was black or bloody, and Rita could still see smoke rising from the grilled bodies of the witch's men, presumably another product of her soul mate's wrath. All the furniture, all the decorations had been obliterated. Yet somehow, the person Verity wished most to die stood unharmed in the midst of it all.

Calida waited, proud and almost glowing in the black aftermath. Her head was held high as Rita cautiously approached. As if the witch refused to acknowledge the fact that all her hard work the past centuries had been for a man who would never be grateful. A man who was Rita's soul mate, and who always be linked to a filthy vermin. A man who laid motionless at the witch's feet.

"You," Rita began quietly, because she had unknowingly grown like her soul mate to hate silences, "are supposed to be dead."

"I could say the same for you." Her voice was soft and alluring. No wonder Adrian loved her for some time.

"You know why I'm still here. Why are you?"

Calida Solanum shrugged flippantly. "I heard him think one day, when I was sick and he was reading by my bed, that it would so much more convenient if I died."

__

She plans to kill me, Rita thought. _Otherwise she would not be so open_. "So you faked your own death just to please him? That's absurd."

"I loved him," Calida Solanum said distinctly. "And I did everything for him." Her voice was clear as it was pained. "But he loved you. Do you see the injustice in that?"

She did, to be truthful. Just moments before, Rita remembered feeling sorry for her. But it was no excuse. "I loved my sister," she replied in biting tones. The harshness in the human's voice visibly startled the witch. "I loved my mother. I loved Jared, and Bryan, and my class mates…I loved my husband." She stepped closer, and was pleased that she and Calida were almost the same height. "You were not robbed, Calida. You never had him."

__

Well, Rita thought to herself as she struggled to keep her balance, _that's the first time I believe a girl has ever hit me harder than a boy_. When she turned her head back to Calida, her cheek throbbing painfully, the queenly woman appeared as if she hadn't moved a muscle. 

Rita felt her eyes fill with irrational tears. It was not the physical pain, for she felt there had too much to think about other than a silly little slap, but the body lying at her feet. For the past few minutes, Verity had been trying surreptitiously to feel their connection, or to search any signs of life in him. But Adrian was very still, and unresponsive to Calida's movements around his body.

"Look at you," Calida said disgustedly. "Pitiful. How in Goddess' name could he prefer you?"

Verity didn't bother to see herself, for she knew quite well what a mess she was. "Look at me? Look at _you_." All the animosity broiled up furiously inside her, spilling forth when she remembered the people she loved and died. "All these years of chasing a man not worth your time and you've amounted to nothing but a lonely, psychotic bitch. Get a life, Calida. Get a tan."

The woman gave a chilling smile. With a casual shrug, "I suppose becoming the leader of the Night World new council is nothing." Verity, immune to the political importance of the fact, merely rolled her eyes and attempted to step closer to Adrian without her notice.

"You're almost cute when you're trying to be sneaky." With surprisingly civility for a heartless, insane murderer, Calida handed her a small card. "Read it," she encouraged. "Unless you have trouble with big words."

Once again, Rita ignored her. Instead, she read the slip of thick paper.

Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to Its delight,

Joys in another's lose of ease,

And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.

"The dance," she murmured softly to herself.

"Yes." Calida's voice was heavy with triumph. "It was convenient of your friends to throw them on the food. And, in the slim chance of you leaving this castle alive, you will die in a few weeks now that you've touched that."

The hand holding the card shook uncontrollably as Rita remembered the most important loss that night. Calida read her thoughts.

"The deaths of the students were necessary, of course, to ensure that Adrian got what he wanted. But your friend…" The beautiful smile was malicious. "That was just fun."

Rita couldn't help it. It wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, but with death presumably at hand, she was not going to spend her last minutes regretting things she should have done. Her hand throbbed after she had slapped Calida's perfect porcelain face. But she suspected with pleasure that her palm did not hurt half as much as the witch's face.

There was no need to explain her actions, nor her emotions concerning Jared. Her roaring emerald eyes said enough and, with one look, Calida understood.

"That pain your feeling?" Now the woman was not so sure of herself, and her silvery voice held tremors in it. "That burning frustration for what happened? That's what I've been feeling for thousands of years."

"No," Verity denied vehemently, for she refused to have any more similarities with this creature. "No, there's a difference. You felt what you felt because you wanted to win. I felt what I felt because I genuinely loved him."

Calida gazed down at Adrian's body. "You're wrong. I truly loved him…Adri had a way of making me feel better just by being sure of himself." For a split second, the sapphire eyes were lost in memories. Then they hardened to an icy shade, signaling the end of this sharing session. "And if you never appreciated that then it's your fault." For a woman in a formal gown, she moved very quickly. Verity instinctively evaded as Calida advanced angrily.

"My fault?"  


"Yes, it's your fault he's morphed into whatever he is now. A pathetic shadow compared to what he was before you. All those years with you, how you constantly pouted no matter how he protected you, how you cheerfully reminded him of his shortcomings, how nothing was ever enough for you—you changed him. You ruined him."

Whether or not it was the truth—for Tana was terribly oblivious and blunt with her words at times—Rita did not like the guilty sinking in her stomach. She plowed on, however, because no matter what she had done in the past, this woman had done more and with a clearer presence of mind.

"I'm not guilty of killing innocent families, of manipulating thousands of lives for just one man—"

"Killing your mother and your sister was a favor to _both_ of you," Calida corrected coldly. "Your presence was distracting to Adri and you know you hated having them around any way."

She hated being reminded of that. Instead of admitting the truth, Verity rounded on her, even as she continued to back away. "You left him, Calida. My soul mate was alone when he woke up. I don't think you loved him at all."

"That wasn't my fault!" Verity suspected nobody had ever seen Calida so vulnerable. With an expression of wide eyed angst, Rita suddenly realized how young the witch was. No more than eighteen. "I was awoken as the vampires took power, and the purists didn't believe that a dragon and a witch should…" Calida spied Verity's pitying eyes and frowned immediately. "I don't need to explain myself to you."

Verity, momentarily forgetting her fear, stopped her evasive steps and stared at her in silent amazement. "Yes," she said, surprised by the woman's stupidity, "you do. After everything you've done to me and the one I love…of course you do!"

The stunning face twisted into disgust. "You don't understand. You never will." Calida began her murderous steps again, soft eyes deceptively gentle. "You never will."

Verity regained her senses and also continued her steps backward. With a subtle turn, she had managed to avoid being backed into a dank corner. Despite her earlier words of apathy, Verity did care very much to live and to continue living. After all the people she had met in the past year, to meet death without a fight was cowardly compared to what she had seen. "Do you think," she attempted in a sensible tone, "that kidnapping and killing me would have earned his love? Do you think killing me now will change anything?"

"You must be punished," the woman responded, terrifyingly decisive. "Think about what you've done, Verity Glisscielle. Think of what you've prevented. Adri and I came from a world you could never imagine, experienced events you've never dreamed of, upheld traditions that would shatter your tiny mind. And we would have continued what we were meant to continue had you not danced along." Calida shook her head ruefully. "Now look at him. The Amaros were once a respected and feared family. Now Adrian is a wanderer, who spends his time trying to please you or escape his guilt. Look at what you've done."

Oh god, how she wished he was here. Verity's need for him was intense to the point of physical pain. She needed him, or anybody else for that matter, to help her ignore the truth in her words. This stranger was so confident, so assured of her arguments…But Adrian would not come. And neither would the others. Verity steeled herself, and knew she had to win this one by herself. 

They were near the door now, and Rita was faced by two choices. By the pitiful condition the blackened door was in, she could easily push through it to escape. But, surviving by her own wits and, if need be, physical abilities were one thing. To survive by fleeing was to die another death altogether. She stopped her trembling steps, and drew herself to full height.

"Adrian Amaro was my soul mate, Calida Solanum. And I know that in those aspects you two are perfect for each other. I would give you my blessing myself," she added with a mirthless smile. Calida appeared to be only half listening, wide eyes watching her every movement. "But I think—I _know_ with my entire being that Adrian would have been better with me. Not because he's my soul mate. Because, the way he was now…you think he's broken. I think he's better. You've spent all your life trying to revert him to the way he was. I have, and would have continued to, accept his changes

And that's why _you_ deserve whatever you had in mind for me. I don't want to hurt you, but I will, if you force me."

Calida's blue gaze dropped to the ground as she digested Verity's shaky words. Finally, after an eternity of storming emotions in both women, the witch spoke again.

"I will not use magic. And you drop your knife."

~*~*~*~

The dragon stood anxiously outside the front door. Most of the fire had moved to the back of his castle, and the front looked like nothing more but the gnarled, black gates of hell. Luckily, Verity was assisted by an intelligent witch and a guard dog.

"What the hell are you doing here?" a strained New York accent called in surprise. Adrian whirled in the deep ditched he had created with his pacing. It was that repugnant shifter, a freezing witch and…

"Elder Thierry?"

"Well," Winnie said dryly, "Somebody hasn't been keeping up with current events. Nobody has called you that since—"

"She went back for you," Thierry interrupted loudly in an attempt to override the howling wind. "Your soul mate. I believe she heard your thoughts."

"Impossible," Adrian contradicted, his own fear rising as he studied the three. They seemed perfectly serious of the fact. "I never called out to her. We don't even have that capability."

"What kind of screwed up soul mate ship do you guys have?" Kyros asked. All ignored him.

"Look," Adrian said roughly, trying not to envision Verity running back into the fire for his sake. Hadn't he told her to run? Hadn't he? "She made me promise I would wait out here for her and you two. She said she'd meet me. She said…" Adrian trailed off as his throat tightened uncontrollably.

"She heard something," Thierry insisted. "And she returned." Upon observing the dark horror on Amaro's face, he frowned with another potential loss. It seemed as soon as one person was rescued another went missing. "Winnie, you stay here and find her with him."

"With him?" Winnie repeated in shock. "Him, the mass murderer?"

"I didn't kill them!" Adrian denied vehemently. "Stay here if you want." And with those terse words, he turned away swiftly and darted back into the gigantic palace.

"Go with him," Thierry commanded to Winnie. "He'll know his way around and I don't want two lost girls under my care." Unable to argue, the Arlin grit her teeth and scurried after the irate dragon. Kyros was left to sullenly follow his boss back to the boat.

"Amaro," Winnie called out. Nothing but echoing, quick foot steps in response. "Amaro!"

Adrian had no time to wait for Rita's friend. He was heedless of planning his steps, careless what noises he made. Rita wouldn't return to Gitana's chamber, he was fairly certain of that. Nothing lay there except for more dead bodies, the men and Calida's. He was sorry to kill Calida but it had to be done. But now Rita's only danger was the house itself, which was collapsing by the second. It had been decaying over the years, a fact Adrian chose to swallow without an desire of reform, and now the process was expedited by the fire. He had to find Rita before she hurt herself. He had to find Rita before she thought he had broken yet another promise.

"Verity!" he hollered as he raced from room to room. Sweat quickly resurfaced. He was exhausted, and his body moved clumsily, an aftereffect of his colossal transformation. Every movement brought thousands of paralyzing jolts of pain, and his mind, out of sheer fatigue or desperate hope, refused to believe Rita's possible death. She could not be dead. Not after everything, and everyone, they had survived. She simply couldn't. "Verity, where are you?"

Half way down the great corridor he collided with something soft and cold. "She's not on that side," Winnie panted. "I've checked everything. Have you checked all the rooms over there?"

"No," he answered breathlessly. "Not Tana's, but Verity would not—"

A piercing female cry.

"Shit, Amaro," Winnie ground out as she brusquely brushed past him. "When will you learn that you do not know your soul mate at all?" They outside the locked door in an instant. And, impatient of Winnie's silly words and incantations, Adrian simply used brute force to break it open.

They were not five steps in the dim chamber before both stopped short. The world had suddenly turned to the surreal, and Adrian wasn't sure if this was puzzling reality or a horrible nightmare. Winnie was the first to speak.

"Damn."

They had searched until they were near collapse to save Verity. Now, so close, they had another obstacle. They had to decide which Verity to save.

Two. Two girls, exactly identical in every way, shape, and form. Except for the wounds. One had a darkening left eye, and the other had a cut lip. One limped from an injured right heel, and the other held her wrist at an odd angle.

Winnie and Adrian approached them cautiously. It appeared that they arrived during a brief break of a lengthy struggle. At the sight of them, both girls brightened considerably, and both called out for Adrian, and then Winnie.

"I thought you were dead," one said wonderingly. "She said that she killed you."

"I saw," the other said at the same time, "I could have sworn I saw your body at her feet." At that moment, they turned to each other, two pairs of emeralds burning with hatred and realization.

"We agreed no magic and no weapons."

"So we did. Now stop your silly illusions." 

"That is not me, as you very well know. Calida," Verity attempted in a sensible tone. "What do you plan to do? Even if you use your magic to kill me, you will not fool Adrian forever."

"I'm glad you've thought that through. It should be easier for you to stop manipulating every one."

"You are such a lying, delusional, evil little witch."

"Is that what you say when you look in the mirror?" Distracted by the exchange, neither Winnie nor Adrian noticed their closing distance until the girls were at each other throats again. They did not fight like half crazed, vicious cats, but calculating assassins. Their moves, such as throttling and head bashing, were not designed to disorient but to kill. In the short time they spent together, the two absolutely hated each other. Now that somebody had broken the rule of no magic, the other decided to introduce weaponry, producing an iron knife out of seemingly no where. Her counterpart had the exact same weapon as well. 

Terrified by the prospect of more blood being shed, Adrian swiftly approached the two, but far too late. They paused as well as the dragon stalked nearer, the Arlin trailing not far behind. But by that point they were at a stand still. Both daggers aimed at each other's belly, both girl's eyes flashing murderously. 

A single movement of one meant death for the other. 

Adrian barely breathed, and in the tense silence, he thought he heard his heart beating wildly. "Verity—Calida…don't."

"Which one are you talking to?" one asked, apparently irked he couldn't discern the true Glisscielle.

"I don't know."

"You know," the other began, terribly patronizing, "I pity you Calida. Part of me cheers you on for being so devoted—the other is terribly disgusted."

"What's more disgusting," Rita shot back in the same tone, "is the fact that you can't let go. He's not interested."

"How about you practice what you preach?"

"Then let Adrian touch our hands," the other challenged, chin raising lethally. "Then he'll know who's been lying."

"The second I move away," Verity replied through clenched teeth, "you'll stab me. I don't care if you promise. You broke your oath about not using magic, you'll break your oath about not stabbing me."

"Coward," she jeered, in just about the same way she had jeered him in the dungeon. "That's your excuse. You know the truth," she continued, voice softening. "You know he doesn't love you."

"Right," Rita retorted, surprisingly harsh, "like he loves _you_."

The mirror image maintained her lethal position, one arm back and the other poised for a strike. But her martial expression relaxed by imperceptible degrees. The green eyes slid from Rita's muscle movement's to Adrian's face. There was a slight, wistful smile on her lips. "No," she agreed faintly. "We almost did…but, neither of us need a relationship right now."

The other Verity appeared confused and, still in stabbing stance, looked at Adrian as well. The first continued, not noticing that her twin was distracted.

"We're soul mates…but we're not meant to be together, Adrian. You know that. After all we've shared…" Now she blushed, and Adrian warmly remembered their kiss. Their long, drugging kiss. "We still don't belong together." Then Verity gave a sweet, sad, and wider smile. Adrian knew it well. The kind of smile he gave when he silently relived the memories of Tana.

The other Verity's eyes became small slits of green when she saw his lips quirk up in response. The irritation she felt with her adversary was now galloping to full force fury. And that vulnerability to the other girl's gut was simply too tempting.

Adrian saw her hand lunge forward, observed the wrathful expression, and tried to jump between them. Oh god he tried. If there was anything that tore the most effort from him, this was it. Fear possessed him as he fell between the two, dragging the girl's arm beneath him. But it wasn't enough. Adrian heard the pained gasp, and just as quickly as the fear came, it left. Sheer anger bubbled under his skin when he shot up, barely taking in the hilt buried in his soul mate's side, and snatched the knife out of her enfeebled hand. The other hand gripped the murderess's arm. Then he spun, ignoring Winnie's cries, and slid it into Calida's ribs.

Her green eyes—which, Adrian knew without a doubt were an icy blue—widened, and her mouth gaped in shock. A hand, wet with blood and sweat, slowly rose to touch his cheek, leaving crimson finger prints. He would have shaken it off until he realized the terrible truth.

He hadn't stabbed Calida.

His hand—god, bruising her arm again—let go. Verity limply slid to the ground, but caught by the last second by Winnie. 

It was very hard to breathe when he turned around again. Damn near suffocating when he saw Calida lying dead on the ground, with the dagger Verity yielded protruding triumphantly in her gut. 

"Adrian."

She was still alive. But his lungs still didn't exhale properly when he turned to her. On her knees, blood running down the sweater. In the heart of all places. He stabbed her in the heart.

But, although he had never seen proof, although she had always tried to prove it to him, Verity was strong. Blood exchanges or no, she had always been strong. And she would fight death as long as she could.

He backed away. The one step hurt her, and she flinched as if his withdrawal stung more than the knife in her heart. Not wood, but she wasn't a vampire any way. She was human. She made mistakes. And he killed her for one.

One hand reached for him. It waited tremulously for his own.

Rita didn't like what this wound did to her eyes. Dimming the world, just when there was something to see. Adrian's touch would help; Adrian's touch meant that brilliant warmth would come to both of them.

In a spit second, he clasped it firmly, and took Verity's weight off of Winnie and into his own arms. He held her tightly, sharing her pain, biting his lip so hard that it bled, trying like hell to take away the agony he had caused. Vaguely, he was aware his viselike grip hurt her more than it helped. But if she was leaving, he would try as hard as he could to keep her with him.

"Adrian," she said again. Her could read her eyes so perfectly. Verity's expressions had always been crystal clear. Why did you do that? Why did you hurt me again? And he couldn't answer. "Adrian, please…I understand."

She was speaking. He could always hope if she still spoke. Maybe she wouldn't die…Adrian didn't know what to do if she died.

By his own hand.

What? He wanted to ask, but didn't have the courage to. Just…he had to get away, but stay with her. He couldn't bear it. 

By his _own_ hand.

"I understand, Adrian," she murmured, leaning back against the dragon's arms. She lost track of her thoughts, eyes fluttering shut for a few dangerous heart beats. "You know, Adrian…it was the thought that counts. Killing your only child hood friend…that means a lot."

"What do you understand?" he asked in a panicked whisper. Adrian told himself not to feel any fear. Rita would not die, and she would have time later, after recovery, to tell him. But the throbbing need to know inside could not go ignored. "What do you understand?"

"Why is it taking so long to die?" Verity asked sobbingly, in the voice of a child. "It hurts so much, I don't want it to last long…can't you stop it?" Her eyes slid to her soul mate.

"Don't say that!" Adrian grated with a teary smile. "Don't be silly. You're not going to die. Winnie's going to help you, aren't you, Winnie?" The dragon didn't bother to look up as he proposed this. Inside, he knew denial would shine through the witch's tears. "You're not going to die, Verity."

Winnie also bent slowly to murmur something. When he realized it was a prayer of death he roughly shoved her away, and hugged Verity to himself as a terrified child would cling to his mother. "She is not dying," he snarled. "Call Thierry. Tell him Verity's been injured."

"Adrian," Verity rasped in a tiny voice. "I understand now. I can't keep denying things that I don't like, just like you can't deny what's happening right now—"

"And try to find a medical kit in your tents," Adrian continued breathlessly.

It was strange how she could see him so clearly. Every line, every color, every truth in his eyes. Darkness dominated the hall and death tore at her eyes but Adrian Amaro was instantly and completely visible to her.

One last breath. One last smile. That was all he wanted. And, after that one last breath and one last smile, he would ask for more. Just one more. 

Then came more words that pierced his heart. It hurts, she would beg. God, please do something. It hurts so much, just please somebody…

An overwhelming need to beg her to stop. To stop pleading, to stop twisting his soul with every anguished word. It hurt him more than it hurt her. Her heart hurt her, yes, but his whole being ached. 

Verity continued to whisper what was, to Adrian's ears, delirious nonsense. "This is my time, Adrian, don't take it away. This is my chance…"

But he had no right to ask her anything. He wanted to take her place, but he couldn't ask her anything. 

Ignoring Winnie's desperate words, his soul mate could no longer stand it. Verity threw aside the achingly slow gasps and purposely inhaled deeply. She exhaled just as quickly, wincing with every movement. As if she knew her breaths were numbered and she was dwindling them as soon as possible. 

Winnie was frantic. It was heart breaking to see her capable hands try and stop the rapid rise and fall of her chest. But she had no idea who she was dealing with. 

Adrian held her closer. Verity was his soul mate. Rita was strong, amazingly strong—it was just that he was too stupid to realize it. Depending on everybody…but then again, nobody but herself. She had to have things her way, and death was one of them. Her beautiful face growing paler, the eyes brightening then darkening until the fatal breaths jerked for the last time. 

"We've been denying everything for so long, Adrian. Hiding the truth, pushing it away. I won't any more, I promise, I promise, I promise I loved being your wife for some time and I wouldn't have anybody else as—"

Losing—or winning—the battle with death, her head lolled limply to the side. Staring straight at her soul mate. No strength to do anything but wait for her end. No strength to do anything but—

"My soul mate," she mouthed with the faintest smile. Those perfectly imperfect lips forming the praise. And, though he thought he would die doing so, he smiled back. Because it would have hurt her to see him frown. Adrian didn't want to hurt her any more. 

The last words.

She stopped speaking. That didn't matter. Adrian knew, he believed so desperately…as long as the eyes were alive, that untamed emerald flame roared…she'd live. She had to. She couldn't die without knowing how sorry he was, how much he wanted to make it up to her. The witch would save her. The witch had to save her. As long as those emerald jewels glittered, he would hope. 

The green eyes faded.

~*~*~*~

They left the castle, Adrian and Winnie. But not before he had mechanically and unseeingly set everything that survived the earlier catastrophe on fire. And left everybody to burn.

Everybody.

And they left as they came. The employer, not acquainted with Verity—a fact that caused Adrian to pity him—did not react to the knew violently as the fox shifter did. The elder was forced to hold him back as Adrian told them the news tonelessly. There was no need, for Adrian would have accepted and survived any beating the Daybreaker had intended. Perhaps it was Thierry's own past that caused the pity Adrian had spied in the vampire's eyes.

They left him with minimal encouragement for his accompaniment. Kyros and Winnie soared furiously over his head as he watched Descouedres glide over the water.

He didn't know what she understood, not fully. Maybe she understood his version of the truth. True, Verity suffered. She suffered more than any girl should have suffered. And true, somebody had instilled a good soul in her. 

But the heroines were not without flaws. They struggled with consciences. Sometimes they even wanted to kill others. Sometimes they saw things the way they wanted to; not how it really was.

And villains were not without admirable motivations. They struggled with consciences. Sometimes they gave up the world for others. Sometimes they lived in a rosy dream, guilty of the same crime of their nemesis.

It didn't matter if some people thought it was unfair. It didn't matter if a few thought that, because of all her struggles, she didn't deserve to die.

But everybody deserves to die. Fair in one light, unfair in another. But unchangeable. 

Squatting in the abandoned tent, Adrian sighed and pulled the journal from his pocket. Delicately he peeled the pages apart, reading Tana's dainty words. He had bought the diary in England as a gift for her; and she had written it addressed to him.

__

Dear Soul Mate,

I'm in love with you, when I shouldn't be. I hurt you sometimes, and I don't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm—

He snapped the book shut. For a hundred pages, she went on apologizing. For hurting when she didn't mean to. They were even now.

Yet she understood something that he didn't. She was trying to tell him…he didn't want to listen. And it would be a question left unanswered. If she was reborn, he wouldn't contact her. He was sorry—so sorry—but…he just wouldn't. She wanted it that way, after she had found out everything.

From a certain perspective, they didn't really fail the mission. The truth, or the one they wanted, could always be found from a certain stand point, just as it had been found at Anomina. The pair did everything they could to reach their goal. No Daybreak mission had ever failed. Their goal was to let Rita out of the castle. And Verity Catalina Glisscielle…or Gitana Benevita Amaro…did leave the castle.

Her soul had escaped. In the end, teaching the truth to others, and, above all, herself. 

~*~*~*~

****

Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight,

Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.

****

Yeats

Yes, well, I'm sure whether or not to add an epilogue…if you have a suggestion as to yes or no, you can email or review, but try to have a reason, not just a "yes" and not just a "no"…any way, thanks for sticking with me for so long and love ya lots! Review!


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